


Red Hot Chili Professors

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Learns Self-Love, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Professor Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: Dean's doing fine. He's always late for work, he's not taking care of himself, and he isn't planning on changing that - but seriously, he's fine. Except for one thing: someone's brought back the chili pepper rating system for all of the professors on campus, and Dean isn't rated the hottest. It's Castiel Novak, the guy who's always walking around in terrible sweater vests, who's got the full ten chilis - and that's something Dean does plan to change.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 186
Kudos: 721
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a labour of love, in the works since before 2020, so forgive the scenes that aren't pandemic-compatible - Dean and Castiel are living in a world blissfully free of it all.
> 
> Thank you so much to [natmoose](https://natmoose.tumblr.com/), [wanderingcas](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/), and of course [thebloggerbloggerfun](https://thebloggerbloggerfun.tumblr.com/), for being the most iconic beta readers in history. I'm so glad this fic was Accepted by Sam.  
>    
> In the tags I've put "Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism". The fic doesn't go into this much, it's just referenced now and then that Dean doesn't have a great relationship with alcohol - if you'd like to ask me about the specifics to feel comfortable, please feel free to leave a comment or head to [my inbox on tumblr](https://whelvenwings.tumblr.com/ask).

Dean took a long, long gulp of his coffee. When the chair across from him at the table scraped backwards and someone sat on it, he didn’t even look at them.

“Long night?” said Castiel’s voice.

In response, Dean raised his eyes to Castiel’s, and gave him a dead-eyed stare.

“... I’ll take that as a yes,” Castiel said.

With a grunt, Dean went back to his coffee. Eight o’clock in the morning on a Monday. It was too early to talk to anyone in the teachers’ lounge. Especially Castiel.

“It’s this weekend that we’re going to the movie, isn’t it?” Castiel asked.

Movie? Dean’s worn-out brain struggled for a second, and then light dawned. That was right. There was a one-off showing of Tombstone this Sunday, part of a Western Weekend at their local movie theatre. Dean had asked a few other people – his brother, a few of his friends, even his other coworker Charlie – but none of them had wanted to go. As a last resort before just deciding to go solo, Dean had asked Castiel. The two of them only really talked about work-related things when they talked at all, and Castiel was a weird mixture of dorky and aloof, but Dean had marginally preferred the idea of going with him to going alone.

“Um. Tombstone?” Castiel clarified, and Dean realised that he’d been staring into his coffee without answering.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Sunday.”

Castiel nodded. His eyes were far too bright and happy for this time of the day, Dean thought. Whatever was making Castiel excited, it couldn’t be enough to offset Monday morning misery by that much.

“Alright, well. I’ll leave you to your coffee,” Castiel said, still sounding far too chirpy, and he got up and walked away.

Dean drank his coffee while soaking up the quiet. For a whole minute and a half, at least. Charlie dropped into the chair that Castiel had vacated, and put her chin on her hand.

“You look terrible,” she said, putting on a faux-British accent. Dean caught the reference, and managed a tiny snort and a nod.

Charlie repeated the noise, and when Dean looked up at her, she raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“Gonna guess, at least?” she said. “Or is it first blood to me, today?”

Dean gave her a look of worn-out contempt. His head was ringing.

“You wish,” he said. “Legolas. The Two Towers.”

“Ooh. You got it.”

“Not that hard,” Dean said, aware that the words could've come out charming if he hadn't been hungover – but instead he sounded irritable and teenagery and didn't care enough to fix it.

“Please. What did you try to get me with yesterday?” Charlie tapped her chin mock-thoughtfully. “Pacific Rim? You know I’ve seen that thirty times. You were there with me for at least two of them.”

“Right. But you know what the funny thing is?” Dean said. His throat felt as though there were gravel in it.

“Mm?”

“Funny thing is, you completely missed some Harry Potter up there.” He met her eyes. “ _You wish._ ”

Charlie slapped her hand on the table.

“One all,” she said.

“Two to me. I got yours, you missed mine.”

“Damn it. Worth a try. Anyway, are we still counting Harry Potter after… you know… ugh.” Charlie made a face.

“You said on Friday that you’d be damned if Rowling being transphobic was gonna take every good thing about Harry Potter away from you." Talking was distracting Dean from the way his mouth tasted. "This _clearly_ counts as a good thing.”

“Urgh. _Fine_. Anyway, what’s up with you? Two-day beard? Yesterday’s shirt? A slight hint of _I didn’t shower?_ Again?” Charlie clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth pityingly.

“Grading papers,” Dean grunted.

“Right. That’s what the kids are calling it these days, huh?”

Dean threw her a look. It was true that usually, _grading papers_ meant spending a night at the Roadhouse and seeing how many times he could reach the bottom of a bottle - and last night hadn’t actually been any different. His spot at the bar practically had his name on it.

Charlie pulled a face back at him. Dean gulped down two mouthfuls of coffee, willing it to ease the itchiness in his eyes, the thudding in his head, the almost undeniable urge to put his head down on the table in front of him and go to sleep.

“You need to clean up,” Charlie said. “It’s not a good look.”

“You don’t think so?” Dean said sarcastically.

“Don’t get yourself put under review.”

“I teach fine,” Dean grunted. “No complaints.”

“Right. But more importantly, your rating is gonna go down.” Charlie said it with a hint of glee in her voice that Dean didn’t appreciate.

"Rating?"

“From the students," Charlie said.

“Oh. Like… the thing? That website… rate my professor?” Dean waved a hand. “S’always been fine.”

“Mmm. Not that rating.” Again, Charlie sounded as though she was enjoying herself far too much.

Dean fixed her with a gaze that he tried to keep from being too bleary.

“Your chili peppers, Dean. Your hotness rating. You are just tumbling right now.”

“Chili peppers? They got rid of those, didn’t they?” Dean said, stifling a yawn. Charlie leaned forward.

“They’re back,” she said quietly. “There’s a new app. Works a bit differently, but it’s there.” Her face was carefully smooth, but her eyes were gleaming just a little. Typical Charlie, enjoying the tech workaround and the rebellion.

“Great,” Dean grunted shortly. He felt like garbage and the last thing he wanted to be thinking about was a bunch of people on campus checking him out and getting judgemental about it. Charlie had been dead on earlier with the no-shower thing, a low even for Dean. If the chili peppers were really back, Dean’s were going to take a nosedive today, and given how he smelled it would be pretty appropriate for noses to be involved.

“There’s only a certain amount of time before it gets taken down - I give it six and a half days or so - but right now, it’s live and it’s watching you, my friend.” Charlie raised her eyebrows at him.

“Six and a half days is specific,” Dean said, keeping his tone disinterested. It was easy enough to do, since he wasn’t really interested. What did it actually matter if people were doing ratings? This headache was pounding loud enough to drown that crap right out.

“On Sunday I’m going to hack them and take it down,” Charlie said composedly. “I’m going to flatter them and say it might take me half a day. I don’t have time before Sunday, I’ve got papers to grade. Like, actual papers to actually grade, not “ _papers to grade”,_ if you were wondering.”

“Okay,” Dean said, too tired for follow-up questions. He took another gulp of his coffee. If the site was only going to be up for another week, then he really didn’t need to care about his rating on it, did he?

“So… you wanna know who’s rated highest in this school?” Charlie said. She sounded lightly teasing. At the tone of her voice, Dean perked up slightly. It couldn’t be him, could it? Nah. But she’d sounded like it could be.

“Oh, yeah?” he said.

“Castiel Novak,” Charlie said.

Dean almost choked on his coffee. He set his mug down too hard.

 _“What?”_ he said.

“Well,” Charlie said, “that woke you up, at least.”

“Castiel Novak?”

“Mm-hmm. A full ten out of ten chili peppers.”

“Are you kidding me? _Him?_ What am I?”

Charlie winced. Dean glared at her.

“Seven,” she said, and then immediately added placatingly, “which isn’t so bad, really. I mean, Balthazar is only an eight and he’s got the accent going for him, too.”

Seven? Seven chili peppers, and Castiel was a ten? Castiel, who wore sweater-vests in the winter. Castiel, who sat grading his papers in the teachers’ lounge for hours, and thought he was too good to turn up to their annual festive party. Castiel, who was enough of a nerd to be able to look excited about life on Monday morning.

Dean swallowed the last of his coffee.

“The world is bullshit,” he said. Charlie rolled her eyes. Balthazar, who was walking past their table, said,

“Amen.”

When Dean got to class half an hour later, he was five minutes late and his students had already taken their seats. He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked in, only looking up and putting his hands on his hips when he reached front and centre of the room.

Phones were out. Eyes were judging. Dean tugged on the collar of the shirt he’d worn yesterday, and pushed a hand through his greasy hair.

One week, he reminded himself. It didn’t even matter that Castiel was in the next classroom over, looking fresh and probably smelling like a fairy forest in the spring. One week, and then the app would be gone without trace anyway.

But that night, instead of going to the bar, he stayed in.


	2. Tuesday

Dean showered the next morning, and shaved. He put on a little cologne. He wore a fresh shirt.

The drive to work was definitely more pleasant on a solid eight and a half hours of sleep. When he reached the teachers’ lounge that morning, he grabbed his usual coffee – but not before he’d waved good morning to a few other faculty members, and complimented the school’s head secretary on his new haircut.

“Good morning,” Charlie said as Dean sat down next to her on a couch, lowering her book for a second. “Hey. Someone looks clean.”

“Thanks,” Dean said. Teachers were passing them on their way to their early classes. “Hey, Balthazar. Rowena. Morning, Castiel.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, “Good morning.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but seemed to change his mind and went to sit over at his usual table with a mug of something that was gently steaming. Dean watched after him. Castiel retrieved a pen from his front pocket, and began to read what looked like an essay with his usual expression of intense concentration.

Charlie had disappeared back into her book, leaving Dean to meditate on Castiel a little longer.

What was it about him that had people rating him at ten whole chili peppers? _Ten?_ Sure, the guy was good-looking. It wasn’t that Dean hadn’t noticed it before, so much as he’d worked to not think about it. But now that Dean properly looked at him, the thoughts that had been quietly lurking rose to the surface. Castiel had a kind of chiselled attractiveness to his face. He had an intensity to him that was definitely… magnetic? Was that the word for it? And obviously his eyes were that particular shade of blue, pretty striking.

But Dean himself had green eyes, didn’t that count for anything? And he had a jawline, too. He’d checked this morning in the mirror.

“Take a picture,” Charlie said, “it’ll last longer.”

“Huh?” Dean realised his mouth had been slightly open.

“Huh?” Charlie copied, and then did an exaggerated impression of his staring.

“I wasn’t,” Dean said.

“Uh-huh.”

“I _wasn’t.”_

“Uh- _huh.”_

Dean looked back over at Castiel.

“You think he knows?” he said.

Charlie glanced over towards him.

“No,” she said. “I think you got away with it.”

“No, no. About the app. The rating. You know… the chili peppers.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes.

“You look way too serious, asking me that question. Dude, the app will be gone in a week. It means nothing. You know that, right? I told you ‘cause I thought you’d find it funny too. I can take it down sooner – I could probably get a day off work to –”

“What?” Dean interrupted. “Serious? Me? Nah.” Dean jerked his head towards where Castiel was sitting. “I bet _he_ is, though. Look at him, sitting over there. Just lording it over everyone else.”

Charlie frowned, and looked over at Castiel.

As they watched him together, Castiel took an unselfconscious glug of his drink, and scratched his ear.

“Maybe he doesn’t even know about it,” Charlie said. “I didn’t tell him.”

“He totally knows. He’s smug. I can tell.”

“I don’t know, Dean. He’s always seemed pretty chilled out.”

“It’s a front,” Dean said.

“You really think so?”

“Of course it is. As if a nerd like him could really get a rating that high and not be smug about it. He’s _totally_ smug.”

“‘A nerd like him’? Whoa. Look at that stone, flying through your glass walls.”

Dean waved her off.

“You know what I mean. He’s dorky.”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” Charlie said.

“He thinks he’s too good for us. He always has. He's always doing stuff.”

"Stuff?" Charlie repeated, sounding amused by the vagueness. "Stuff, Lori. Things."

"Nice try, Rick Grimes. One to me." Dean caught her reference easily, and returned to his point. “He never talks to anyone."

"But most of the time, you don't even –"

"He gets that look sometimes, like he's happy," Dean said. "Happy people are assholes."

“I don’t know if –”

“Probably all this time he’s just been waiting for something like this to happen," Dean said, looking back over at Castiel. "So he could have proof that he’s _so_ much better than the rest of us. Oh, man, he _totally_ knows about the rating. Look at him.”

“Are you even listening to me, or –"

“I mean," Dean pressed on, "what, we’re expected to believe that he just sits over there where the lighting looks good by accident? That right there is a calculated move.”

“I think I liked it better when you weren’t this talkative in the morning, actually,” Charlie said, deadpan.

“To show off his cheekbones,” Dean continued over her. “I mean, look at them, they’re really – his bone structure really is – damn.”

There was a silence. Dean glanced over at Charlie to see her looking intently at her book, no longer listening. Surely she had to see it too, though, didn’t she? The slight upward curve on Castiel’s lips, the barest hint of a smug smile that he was keeping inside. The way he oh-so-casually picked up his drink and sipped at it. Now that Dean really watched, it all looked way too good not to be calculated. The guy was clearly milking this new ratings thing for what it was worth. Broadcasting to every other teacher in the lounge that he was the big guy on campus.

In a sweater vest. A freaking _sweater_ vest. Yeah, Dean’s own wardrobe hadn’t been the freshest in multiple senses recently, but it wasn’t sweater vests.

“Ten, though?” he asked eventually, and Charlie snorted.

“Yeah, Dean. Ten. You’re down to a six point five, by the way, after yesterday.”

Dean stared at Castiel, trying to act as though he hadn’t heard her, or as though he didn’t care. Yesterday, it had been easier to pretend.

“He’s a six,” Dean said. “At best.”

Castiel took another sip from his mug, and then licked his lips absent-mindedly.

“A seven,” Dean said. “Not more than an eight.”

“Right,” Charlie said. “Sure.”

When he got home that night, Dean put on a facemask and finally made use of the cherry lip scrub that had been his Secret Santa gift from the festive party the year before. Not because he had anything he wanted to prove, he told himself. Not because he thought he actually could prove anything, even if he wanted to. It wasn’t like he was – well, after all, it had been a while since he’d taken care of himself, and a while since he’d been interested in trying to see himself as attractive after the break-up last year, and – his thoughts became a tangle.

What was important was that he was definitely and absolutely, probably, maybe capable of looking just as hot as Castiel Novak, and wiping that smug smile off his face.


	3. Wednesday

The next morning, Dean stood in front of his closet, eyeing his clothing options. Sure, he could go with the same old shirt and jeans combo that had been his staple for the last few months - no, longer than that, almost a year. The jeans were kind of falling apart, and not in the cool way, and his shirts were all looking pretty worn too, but he could just shove those on and go.

Or… he flipped through the options on their hangers. He’d bought this t-shirt a while back. It was soft, and more expensive than it should’ve been for just a t-shirt, but he’d thought that one day he might feel like wearing something nice. Instead, he’d just found himself saving it for some kind of special occasion that never seemed to come – some time when he wanted to impress somebody with how he looked, when he was ready to get back into dating, or whatever.

Maybe today was the day. Dean pulled the t-shirt out of the closet. The jeans… well, he had those black ones that he hadn’t worn in ages. Why had he ever stopped wearing those? They’d looked pretty good, if he remembered right. And they matched with those boots that were at the very back. Now, where was that leather jacket, the one that was a little fitted…

And there were some aviators sitting on a shelf. Dean picked them up, and then threw them onto his bed with the rest of the clothes he’d pulled out.

Dean hopped in the shower once he’d finished putting his outfit together. He scrubbed himself all over, and then shaved. The water thundered down on his head, and Dean started singing.

\---

When he got into the teachers’ lounge, he hurried past the coffee machine and headed over to where Charlie was sitting. She looked up at him, went back to her book, and then did a double-take.

“Holy crap,” she said. “Did you do your hair? Is there product in there?”

Dean cleared his throat. He’d wildly underestimated how self-conscious he would feel, having actually made an effort. The whole way from his car to the teachers' lounge, he’d been trying to hunch his shoulders and act as though he didn’t want to be wearing the clothes that he had on. The aviators were tucked into his hand, safely hidden from judgemental eyes.

“It’s dumb,” Dean said.

“What? No,” Charlie said. “No, it’s not. You look great.”

“I should go change,” Dean said. “I think I got some spare stuff in the back of my car…”

“You don’t need to change. Seriously. Noooo,” Charlie said, as Dean got up. “Don’t put on the dusty car clothes. Castiel, tell him he looks good today.”

Castiel?

Dean turned to find Castiel standing behind him – looking caught out, uncertain. He had his customary mug of something hot in his hand, and as Dean watched, his cheeks reddened just a little.

“Um,” he said. Internally, Dean cringed.

“You don’t have to say that,” Dean said gruffly, waving Castiel off. He turned back to shoot a murder-glare at Charlie. The last thing he needed, Dean thought, was the hottest teacher in the school being asked to pity-compliment him.

“No, I – you do,” Castiel said. “You do. You look good.”

He walked away, a little more quickly than normal, and left the teachers’ lounge. Charlie watched after him, until Dean put his hands on his hips.

“Well. Thanks for that. So much,” he said to Charlie.

“Two out of two people in favour of your outfit,” Charlie said, and then shrugged. “Can’t argue with a one hundred percent success rate.”

“You didn’t have to freakin’... embarrass me in front of him.”

“You were the one who was embarrassed?” Charlie said, sounding amused. Dean sat down on the sofa beside her, tentatively perching on the edge of his usual spot, still half-planning to go and change.

“Uh… did you not see the guy? He looked so awkward trying to get out a compliment about this.” Dean gestured at his whole ridiculous ensemble.

“Right,” Charlie said. “Uh-huh.”

“And of course, obviously, it had to be him you asked, Mr Ten freaking Chilis. Mr Magical Pepper Man. Mr Wow, Look At My Blue Eyes.”

“Don’t you need to get to class?” Charlie said. “Unless you wanna keep going.”

“Mr Oh, You Caught Me Holding My Mug Of Hot Drink That’s Not As Hot As I Am.”

“Damn. Signing up for a gym membership must be horrible with that last name.”

“He probably shortens it,” Dean said, standing up, “just to Mr Hot.”

“You should call him that to his face,” Charlie called after him, as he headed for the door. “Don’t change your clothes! You look good!”

Dean left the room, his cheeks burning, feeling the curious gazes of the other few teachers in the teachers’ lounge on his back as he went.

He had to get to his car and change. He checked his watch, and then hissed through his teeth. There wasn’t time before class. Crap. _Crap._ He was going to have to actually go to class looking like some kind of hipster crossed with a wannabe biker. He could feel his heartbeat pounding. And of course Castiel had been there to witness his feeble attempt at looking hot, and would probably be thinking unendurably smug thoughts about it for the rest of forever.

Dean dipped into the bathroom, and braced himself against the sink, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. He swallowed hard, and took a deep breath.

Now that he checked himself out again, the jacket did fit him nicely.

And his hair had a kind of nice, touchably soft look.

And the t-shirt sat a little loose, not hiding but not emphasising his slight tummy, and drawing attention to his chest muscles.

And the black jeans… when Dean turned around, his eyebrows went up. He actually... kind of... had an ass, in these jeans. This was what Castiel had been seeing when he’d said that Dean looked good.

Maybe the compliment had actually been sincere. _Ha._ Right, as though Castiel the King of Chilis would lower himself far enough to pay Dean a genuine compliment. But still, just because Castiel hadn’t been able to sincerely admit it, maybe Dean really… kind of… _did_ look alright.

When Dean looked back up at his face in the mirror, he saw a lightness there that he hadn’t caught in his own expression for a while. He’d used to think he was pretty good-looking most of the time, but lately he’d sunk into either ignoring his own appearance or not liking it. Now, though, there was a little smile at the corners of his own mouth. He quickly flattened that out – but not soon enough to hide it from himself. And when he left the bathroom, it was with a slight spring in his step.

He could do this. He could _do_ this. He could wear a leather jacket and tight jeans to class and he could pull it off and feel confident with himself and earn chili peppers. He _could._ And even if Castiel’s compliment hadn’t been genuine, which it probably hadn’t, Dean would be able to shove it in his face at the end of the day when he wasn’t the only one with a high rating.

“What’s up,” Dean said, as he walked into his classroom. He set the aviators down on his desk, and put his hands in his pockets. “Okay, so, today we’re gonna be having some presentations on robotics. First up, let’s have, uh… yeah, there, uh, Claire and Kaia. Come on down.”

The two girls gave each other a look and then came up to the front of the room. Dean made space for them, moving over to the side.

Claire started their presentation; Dean listened intently for a good few seconds, and then found his attention drifting. Was he looking OK? Was his rating going up?

Maybe he should be posing a little differently. Folding his arms. Yeah, that felt good. Was the sunlight hitting him right? Maybe he should move to the other side of the room. When Kaia took over talking, Dean put one finger on his chin, trying to seem thoughtful. He pictured Castiel seeing him, realising that there was a competitor in hotness. Castiel would stare at Dean, wondering if Dean had always been so hot.

By the end of the class, Dean had managed to hit seven different poses that he thought would get Castiel worried, all around his classroom. By the end of the day, it was up to thirty-six.

Hotness was a game, Dean thought, and maybe today he was winning.

\---

“So?” Dean said to Charlie, catching up to her at the end of the day in the parking lot as she was getting into her car to go home. Around them, there was the usual mess of cars all trying to leave a small space at once, with students mingling in between. Charlie turned to look at him, squinting into the afternoon sun.

“So what?”

“My… you know... chili peppers,” Dean said, mostly mouthing the last two words.

“Dean. You’re caring a lot about the opinions of some college kids. Do I need to worry, or…”

“The kids? Who cares about the kids,” Dean said. “If _someone_ sees my rating go up, it’ll stop him being so smug. C’mon, check the numbers.”

“You could just check the app yourself,” Charlie said.

“I’m an old man. I don’t log in. Log on. How do I website, I don’t, I don’t know…” Dean mimed attempting to type on a keyboard, slowly and badly. Charlie rolled her eyes.

“You’re ridiculous. I know you’re only asking because you want your victory announced. Fine.” Charlie leaned up against the side of her car, pulled out her phone, and tapped at the screen. Dean waited as the app loaded for her. He considered putting on his aviators. It _was_ pretty sunny. And he had them right there in his hand.

“Oh!” Charlie said.

Ten, Dean thought. He was up to ten chili peppers. Just in one day. He was going to go over to Castiel and rub it in his face so hard. Castiel thought he was the only ten on campus? He thought that he could afford to give out fake compliments in the teachers' lounge to humble six point fives, he thought they’d never catch up to him? Today was the reckoning. Today was the day it all changed.

Charlie turned her phone around to show Dean the screen.

“You’re back up to a seven!” she said.

Dean’s face must have dropped, because she pulled the phone back, looking concerned.

“That’s good, right?” she said. “You’re back where you were before you came in looking like you’d been pulled backward through a hedge at the side of the road? I mean, that’s got to be an ego boost.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“So… you can probably just forget about the whole thing, right?”

“Absolutely,” Dean said.


	4. Thursday

Dean didn’t go to the teachers’ lounge the next morning. He had a free period, and usually he didn’t arrive at school until around eleven on the days when he wasn’t teaching first thing – but today, he was already on campus. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face, and sitting at the back of Castiel Novak’s classroom.

Whatever it was about this guy that was driving up his rating, Dean had to know. He had to figure it out. Even if it meant having to learn a bunch of stuff about some old English literature at the same time, or whatever the hell it was that Castiel taught.

When Castiel walked into the classroom, Dean ducked his head. In front of Dean, luckily, there was a big guy with a halo of curly hair, so it was easy to shelter behind him and avoid Castiel’s quick searching glance across the room.

“Good morning,” Castiel said, walking over to his desk and setting his briefcase down on it. There were murmurs in response. Dean narrowed his eyes, watching Castiel closely. He looked assured up there, it was true. But he was wearing just a shirt and tie today, nothing special, and Dean couldn’t see that he’d done his hair particularly carefully; in fact, it looked pretty wild from where Dean was sitting. There was nothing about Castiel that screamed _give me all the chili peppers._

But he was rated at ten. Dean settled into his seat as Castiel drew out some papers and started handing them to the people in the front row, gesturing for them to be passed around. He had all those chili peppers for a reason and Dean was going to get to the bottom of it. Also, he was going to know more about – Dean consulted the handout – _Pride and Prejudice,_ apparently, by the end of this class.

“Now,” Castiel said. “I know that after other works we’ve studied, _Pride and Prejudice_ might seem simplistic. Not so dense as Dickens. Not so dark as any of the Brontë sisters. Not so unflinching as Hardy. But Jane Austen’s style, her impact, and her narrative choices, impacted English literature in a way very few can lay claim to. Let’s begin with a brief dip into the context of her writing.”

Castiel began to talk, at length, about English history. There were PowerPoint slides up on the screen behind him, with interactive features. Dean expected it all to be boring. He expected his attention to wander. He expected to be able to sink into his thoughts about Castiel’s hotness technique, analysing his stances and poses, picking up tips.

Instead, he found himself… actually starting to care quite a lot about Jane Austen.

There was just something about the way Castiel talked. He spoke in a low voice – and in fact it was fairly monotonous, too, and a little bit raspy. It wasn’t a soothing sweet voice. But it was in his tone; it was clear, somehow, despite the lack of obvious animation to him, that Castiel truly cared passionately about his subject. Dean watched Castiel’s hands move as he explained Austen’s history, and talked about the writers who were publishing at the same time as her. He saw the enthusiasm in those blue eyes.

“Now. Aside from history, let’s talk about Jane Austen as a person. Much of what we think about her is just guessing, of course. We can’t truly know what she was like to talk to, or to live with, or to work with. But,” Castiel raised a single finger, “we can learn a lot from her writing – these windows she gave us into her innermost self. The main thing I notice about her,” Castiel said, “is that she was first and foremost interested in people. She was observant, she was witty. She had strong principles and she wrote characters that reflected them. When I read her books, it leaps out to me that Austen saw the good in people without flinching from the bad. She wrote decent people, and she treated them with decency. If she were writing you as her main character – or you – or you,” Castiel looked around the room, eyes moving from student to student, “she’d give you a happy ending. She would care about you. And I think she’d give you the opportunity that so many of us want: to be able to grow out of our flaws, and be seen – and loved – as the person we always felt we could be.”

Castiel spoke earnestly, fluently.

Dean felt something shift inside him.

“You all will have to make up your own minds about Austen’s finer character points, and how relevant you think they are to a study of her work. But for me – Austen is a beacon of hope in the landscape of British literature. A keen observer, who saw the greatness in us, just as much as the smallness.” As he spoke, Castiel rolled up his sleeves and then put his hands in his pockets.

Dean swallowed.

“I want you all to take out your copies of the book, and read for three minutes. It doesn’t matter how far you get. I want you to get a taste for the style, if you haven’t had one already. Your time starts…” Castiel checked the watch on his wrist. “Now.”

The class shuffled for their books, retrieving them from their bags and opening them up to the first page with a few mutterings here and there – the odd giggle. Dean had no book, but thankfully was still sheltered from Castiel’s notice by the tall student in the seat in front. Instead of reading, Dean – keeping his head low – rested his chin on his hand and watched Castiel.

He wasn’t at all what Dean had expected, from their few interactions in the teachers’ lounge. At the front of a class, he was confident and he had opinions and he gave them decidedly. The way he spoke, it showed his personality in a way Dean had never seen around the other teachers. Up until now, he’d always come across to Dean as distant. Intense. Aloof. But Dean clearly had not been paying enough attention.

Dean had also apparently not been paying enough attention to Castiel’s arms, either. Or the shape of his face, the play of the classroom shadows across it as he leaned unthinkingly against a wall. He was holding his own copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in his hands, reading it with complete absorption.

The classroom was completely quiet, except for the occasional rustle of a turning page.

Dean just wanted to see Castiel’s eyes light up again, see his hands move. He wanted to see Castiel poke his tongue ever so slightly out of his mouth as he concentrated. He wanted to watch as Castiel stroked his hand down the spine of his book – slowly, and lightly, but with obvious care –

Dean shifted slightly in his seat.

He cleared his throat.

And inside his mind, he scowled furiously.

Damn it. _Damn_ it. Mr Ten Chili Peppers wasn’t a fraud. He probably deserved an eleven.


	5. Friday

The next day, Dean walked into his classroom wearing a shirt and a tie.

“Good morning,” he said to his students. He cleared his throat. That hadn’t quite been deep enough. He tried to get his voice as low and gravelly as possible. “Uh, good morning.” That was closer to it. “Today, we’re going to be talking some more about robotics. I was very impressed by your presentations, but I want to give you even more, uh, even more insight into the marvels of this area of, uh, of study.”

He’d started to lose steam a little there, towards the end, but he felt like he was doing a decent job. He glanced quickly around the class and saw all eyes on him – no one obviously distracted on their phone or losing interest. That was something.

Now he just had to get all deep and inspiring while he had their attention. Nail that, and it would be a one-way trip straight to Ten-Chili City. No more feeling like too much of a seven to even be able to say hello to Castiel in the teachers’ lounge this morning.

“So,” Dean said. “Robotics. The study of how to make a thing… into more than just a thing. Well, it’s still a thing. But it’s, like, a _thing._ You know?”

He was met with some very blank looks.

“Anyway,” Dean said, putting his hands in his pockets and walking over towards the window, trying to look out of it in a way that seemed thoughtful. “The thing you need to remember about robotics is that you’re building something. You’re making something. You are _creating_ something. It can be like a miracle. The miracle of life. Well, you know, uh - robot life. You’re all like… like parents making babies. You have your creativity…” Dean held up a finger. “... And you have your knowledge…” On the other hand, he made a circle with his index finger and thumb. “... And you just gotta…”

He looked down at his one extended finger, and the hole he’d made with his other hand.

With a loud clear of his throat, he put his hands back down by his sides.

“What I’m saying is,” he soldiered on, “robotics can be a seriously inspiring subject. It can change the way you understand the whole world. Like, I mean, maybe you’ll never look at a wire the same again. You’ll be like, I could do things with that wire. I could do _things_ with it. I could make a moving spoon or a toy dog or whatever. Or, uh… something really cool, like seriously cool. Like a guitar that… that plays itself. Just really, really, uh, you know. Cool.” Dean mimed dramatically strumming a guitar, curling his lip a little just to really emphasise the coolness of it. “Yeah.”

Someone near the back coughed.

“In conclusion,” Dean said, “robotics can give you the opportunity you always wanted: to grow out of your flaws, and maybe make awesome guitars. It’s… it’s deep. It goes deep.”

Towards the front, a student put their hand up. Dean gestured towards Kaia, inviting her to speak.

“Can we go back to learning about how to automate, now?” she said.

“Uh,” said Dean.

Beside Kaia, Claire blew a bubble with her gum, and then let it pop.

Dean adjusted his tie, loosening it.

“Get out your textbooks,” he said, and he could hear the defeat in his own voice.

Dean had had a whole thing planned with his shirtsleeves for the middle of the class, but when it came to it, his heart just wasn’t in it. He felt dumb and dorky in these clothes that he obviously wasn’t pulling off, and the content of his class was relaxing back into what it normally was – informal stuff, factual and unfancy, no big speeches, no inspiration.

When the end of the class came, he let the students go and turned to the whiteboard to wipe it down.

So, he reflected with a surprisingly deep pit in his stomach, that hadn’t worked. He should’ve stuck with the leather jacket and aviators thing. Well. At least no one but some college nerds had been around to see.

“Hello, Dean,” said a voice behind him.

Dean swivelled too fast, and hit his leg on the corner of the teacher’s desk. He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his lips tight together to stop himself from making a noise.

“Are you alright?”

Castiel sounded genuinely concerned, with just a touch of amusement. Dean opened his eyes, and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, trying to brush it off. He’d somehow managed to give himself a completely dead leg.

“That looked like it hurt,” Castiel said.

“Nah, nah. Did you, uh, did you need anything?”

Castiel looked good today, Dean couldn’t stop himself from noticing. He looked twelve-chili good. And he probably had twelve different inspiring things to say just stored up and ready to go in his head, right now. One for every chili he deserved. The smug bastard. He was just standing there, looking at Dean as though he had no idea what he was doing with the shirt and the tie and the way he talked.

_Urgh._

“I just wanted to thank you,” Castiel said. “For the class.”

Dean froze.

“You… you were in my class today?” he said, his heartbeat starting to pick up.

“You didn’t see me?” Castiel said.

“No, I… no, I didn’t.”

“Oh. I thought you had.”

So, Castiel had heard his attempt at being inspiring. The walls were starting to cave in. Dean thought he could hear the cries of demons welcoming him into hell.

“Why did you come?” he managed to say.

“Oh – well – I saw you in my class, yesterday. So I thought maybe you might want me to come to yours.”

In his eyes, Dean could see nothing but sincerity. But surely Castiel had to know what he was doing, didn’t he? He had to know why Dean had come to his class, and he had to be making fun, now, of Dean’s attempt to replicate it. Even though the look in his eyes was so genuine.

“I thought I noticed you reference something I said yesterday,” Castiel said, into the awkward silence. “That was why I thought you’d seen me.”

“Reference? You?” Dean said, tugging on his blue tie. “Nah.”

“Oh. Well – anyway, thank you for the class. I’ll see you on Sunday, then? At the movie theatre?”

“Right,” Dean said. And Castiel left the room.

Right.

Sunday.

_Right._

Sunday, when he was going to meet Castiel at the movie theatre to see Tombstone. Just the two of them. Just Dean, and the hottest professor. The professor with the bluest eyes and the deepest voice. The professor with ten chilis. If Dean had been thinking, today, of trying to ask Castiel out on a date, he wouldn’t have held out hope for success – but somehow, he already was going somewhere with Castiel. He’d already got a yes, from when he’d barely even let himself notice that Castiel existed.

Not that it was a date. What they were going to do on Sunday. Not a date, obviously.

Why had he even thought about asking Castiel on a date? Yeah, Castiel was hot. But that was just a fact. It didn’t mean Dean wanted anything to do with him in that way, not really. Dean wasn’t even thinking about dating at the moment. Hadn’t thought about it in ages. Or at least, had pushed away any thoughts that had popped up, because dating was dumb and usually ended badly anyway.

And all of it was pointless to think about it, because obviously Castiel didn’t like Dean. Ten chili dudes didn’t like seven-chili dorks.

It was just going to be two guys, going to the movie theatre to see a movie. Not a date.

Dean didn’t even want it to be a date. Dating was dumb.

He just wanted to sit next to Castiel in the theatre and watch the damn movie. He could see it now, in his mind’s eye. Just the two of them. Watching Tombstone. Sharing a popcorn. Maybe their hands would reach for it at the same time. Maybe they’d look over at each other –

And then go back to the movie, because it wasn’t a date.

It _wasn’t._ And Dean didn’t want it to be. He spent the whole of the rest of the day thinking about how much he didn't want that.


	6. Saturday

“So,” Charlie said, “remind me again why we need to go shopping.”

“I told you. I think I need a new look,” Dean said. He locked the Impala, and together they headed into the mall. Crappy pop music was blasting, and teens were running from store to store, laughing, while stressed-looking parents pushed strollers with crying toddlers inside. Dean groaned internally at the tackiness and noise, but headed towards the nearest place that looked as though it sold clothes. You got what you paid for when you decided to come to the mall on a Saturday afternoon.

“A new look,” Charlie mused, as they walked down the aisles of the store, with Dean occasionally picking things out to try on. “Any particular reason?”

“No,” Dean said.

“Your date tomorrow with Castiel has nothing to do with it?”

Dean threw her a look.

“It’s not,” he said, “a date.” It was creepy that she’d even say that, given how much he’d been thinking about it.

“Uh-huh. Okay. Well – oh, you’re picking that out – okay.” Dean hooked the pair of red oversize pants over his arm and continued down the aisle as though she hadn’t said anything. “Look, if this isn’t about Castiel – is it still about the chili peppers? Because if it is, then you should’ve left me in peace to grade my papers, because right now I’m using up time that I could’ve been using to grade them and that means I might not even get to take the app down tomorrow, and –”

“It’s not about the chili peppers,” Dean said impatiently. “Look, maybe I just really want to try something new, you know? Did you ever consider that?”

“For about two seconds, before realising that wasn’t it,” Charlie said, but she said it in a low voice, and Dean pretended not to hear her as he eyed a jacket with elbow patches.

They flitted sporadically from store to store, Dean picking things up and putting them down and trying them on and hating them and leaving and then going back half an hour later to buy them. Charlie followed him, an expression of vague amusement mingled with concern on her face.

“I’ve literally never seen you like this,” she said, sipping on a milkshake that she’d managed to convince Dean to stop long enough to let her buy.

Dean slurped at his own milkshake. If Charlie was getting one, he’d reasoned, there was no way he was going without. And the chocolate and salted caramel combination was always irresistible.

“You’re sure this has nothing to do with Castiel,” Charlie pressed, as they wandered. Dean shrugged. It was unusual for Charlie to prod at him this much for information he wasn’t volunteering. He must be genuinely starting to worry her.

“I dunno,” he said, and it came out as more of a mumble.

“Uh-huh,” Charlie said.

There was an awkward pause. Dean considered blanking her, not saying any more. She was just a work friend, after all.

But… no, she was more than that. She was his movie buddy. She’d dropped everything to come shopping with him today, as soon as he’d asked. And she wasn’t expressing even one cent’s worth of annoyance over Dean’s shopping method, or lack of it.

Dean cleared his throat.

“He’s just… you know, when I asked him to the movie, he wasn’t even my first choice. I asked a bunch of other people first. I thought he was just this dorky guy.” Dean thought back to Castiel rolling up his sleeves, Castiel meeting his eyes directly when they spoke. “He’s, uh. He’s not. Those things. He’s, like, the person everyone else on campus probably would’ve asked first, turns out.”

Charlie tilted her head to one side and made a face.

“Dorothy, though,” she said.

“Yeah. That’s fair.”

“But I get what you’re saying,” Charlie added. “Like, you hadn’t really noticed him, and now…”

“Now… yeah, whatever. And meanwhile I’m just…”

Dean took a long, slow gulp of his milkshake, sucking the liquid up the straw so that it gurgled unattractively. He felt as though that made his point.

“You’re just?” Charlie prompted. Dean threw her a glance. So, she was going to make him say it.

“You know,” he said. “I’m the school disaster. Why’d he even say yes to me?” As soon as he asked the question, Dean realised that it was at the heart of what had been bugging him all this time. “What’s he expecting? I'm not… interesting. Even when I'm trying to be."

Dean hefted the bags in his hands awkwardly. He never had enough words.

“Hmmm,” Charlie said, non-commitally.

“I don’t know. Yeah. That’s all.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” Charlie said.

“Wow. Really? Okay, Sherlock.”

“Don’t even say that. You know I still can’t deal with being reminded of that show.”

“Ugh. Right.” Dean remembered the weekend when Charlie had been at her peak of anger at _Sherlock._ He’d been unbelievably glad that he’d stuck to reruns of _Dr. Sexy M.D._ He hated it when a show ended badly.

“Okay. Okay. Listen. If Castiel said yes to you, then the chances are, he wanted to go with _you_ you _,_ right? Not some magically different version of you, not…” Charlie delved into one of Dean’s bags and half-pulled out some of the clothes inside. “Not red-pants guy. Not ascot guy, not floral-shirt guy – whoever that guy is. Like, if these clothes are expressing a part of you that you haven’t been letting show then go for it, okay, seriously. But it feels like you’re trying to shop for a new you at the same time as the new pants. And I don’t think Castiel would want that. More importantly, literally every movie I can think of ever that deals with the question of, like, oh, should I become a different person to impress a guy… the answer’s no, you know?”

Dean let out a sigh. He’d come to a stop to let Charlie root briefly through his new belongings, and now he took a morose slurp of milkshake.

“I don’t wanna rain on the parade,” Charlie said, but Dean shook his head.

“Nah,” he said. “You’re right. I’m taking this way too seriously. Like, we’re just going to the movies. I don’t know why I give a crap.”

Charlie pressed her lips together.

“Well,” she said, “Okay. But as your… you know, I know you, and – if I’m honest, it’s kinda felt like… you haven’t really… given a crap about yourself? Or like, anything? For a while?” Charlie shrugged. “And then when you started making an effort to look better and, like, smell better – sorry – I don’t know, you just seemed like you weren’t so down on yourself. And you haven’t been going out drinking, and… I don’t know. I guess I’ve been kinda worried, up until this week, when things actually felt kinda better. So, like, yeah? I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

Dean stared at her for a second. She’d been paying far more attention to him than he’d given her credit for. Cared about him, to be seeing this stuff. He felt a surge of affection for her, at the same time as sticky embarrassment at being noticed.

“Yeah,” he managed to say. “That… yeah.” He looked back over the past week. It hadn’t even really been a conscious choice not to head down to the Roadhouse. It had more been just that he’d had something else in mind, something he wanted to focus on more than… numbness, oblivion, whatever. “Maybe it was time to, uh, stop… some of the old habits. For a while, anyway. So, you think I should…”

He let the sentence trail off, waiting for her advice.

Charlie shrugged.

“I think you should do what feels right,” she said. “That’s all. If that means you wanna keep trying out new things and figuring it all out and stuff, cool. I’m here for it. But you don’t need it.” She looked up at him, her expression more serious than Dean had ever seen it. She looked awkward with it, but determined. “Deciding you wanna stop some old habits doesn’t mean you need to be a new person, okay. 'Cause you are interesting.”

This was getting a little much. Especially for the middle of a mall on a Saturday.

“Right…” Dean grinned as though at a joke, trying to diffuse the moment. “Sure."

“You’re a college professor,” Charlie said. "With the most movie references of anyone I've ever met. And I know we don’t talk about this, but now you’ve annoyed me so I'm going to tell you: you’re one of the best friends that I have. You're interesting, okay?"

Dean swallowed. If before had been a little much, this was a lot.

“Uh,” he said. “Thanks.” It came out sounding clumsy and insincere. Dean rolled his eyes at himself, and breathed out hard, and dropped his shopping bags, and pulled Charlie into a hug.

Charlie patted his back.

They stood still for several long moments, as Dean let it all filter through. He wasn’t going to be someone else tomorrow just because he’d bought new pants. He was still going to be Dean Winchester, seven chilis. He was a seven-chili guy. In a leather jacket, in a sweater and tie, in a crumpled shirt, he was just a seven-chili dude who felt dumb when he made an effort. But Castiel was still going to meet him to see a movie, and that was something.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Let’s… we can go return this stuff now.” Charlie pressed her lips together in an almost-smile that wasn’t unkind, and she nodded. They set off back down the mall.

“I’m keeping the ascot,” Dean said. “It looked good. Screw you.”

\-----

That night, Dean cooked for himself for the first time in a while.

It hadn’t been a conscious choice to start living off junk food – whatever cheap take-out he felt like ordering, or a store-bought frozen pizza, or just filling up on snacks until he didn’t want a whole meal anymore anyway. It hadn’t been deliberate, but it had just sort of happened, over the course of months.

But that night, Dean bought himself some ground beef and some onions and some smoked paprika and some cheddar cheese and some salad and a brioche bun, and he made himself a burger. Melted cheese dripped down his chin as he ate, offset by the crunch of lettuce and the burst of sweetness from the tomatoes and the tang of the paprika flavour.

When he was done, he washed up his plate, and all the things he’d used to cook. And then he washed up all the other plates that had been steadily building up over the course of the past few weeks, since he’d last been able to summon up the will to do the dishes. The lemon scent of soap filled the kitchen. He scrubbed down his counters, and wiped off his faucets. Emboldened by the success, he put on a load of laundry, did a sweep of his place to clear up the clutter, and then decided to tackle the bathroom.

When he’d cleaned out the tub and de-scaled the shower head, he settled himself down on his sofa and put on Netflix. And he felt – he felt good, he realised. He felt full and his meal, while it hadn’t been entirely healthy, had been delicious. And he was clean, and his home felt nice and cosy with everything put away in its right place. His bedroom was still a mess, and there was more to do in the kitchen – the fridge needed cleaning out – but it was something.

It was a start. Dean sat and watched _Dr. Sexy M.D._ for an hour and called up his brother to talk about meeting up the weekend after, and then went to bed. And he felt so – he didn’t have words for it, he never had the right words. Half of him felt good, and the other half was laughing at himself for even trying, knowing he would never keep it up.

Whatever, he thought. It felt good right now.


	7. Sunday

Dean woke up and got into his clean shower. He could feel nerves writhing in his stomach every time he thought about meeting Castiel, so he sang loudly to take his mind of it – odd bits of his favourite songs, seguing into the latest hits he’d heard played at the mall, skipping the lyrics he didn’t know with vague hums.

He cooked himself breakfast. He made himself chocolate chip pancakes with fresh berries and whipped cream and syrup, and they tasted absolutely incredible. Fluffy and soft and sweet. Good enough to make Dean’s heart swell so big he could completely forget about his nerves for about a minute and a half.

But it kept popping up in his brain. Castiel. Tombstone. Going to see a movie with the hottest guy at the school.

Maybe Castiel would buy Dean’s popcorn for him. Maybe Dean would insist on buying Castiel’s drink in return.

Maybe Dean would have the courage to invite Castiel out for dinner after the movie.

Maybe Castiel would say yes.

With a shake of his head, Dean tried to dismiss the thoughts. He couldn’t sit staring into space, thinking about turning something into a date that was just inevitably going to be a slightly awkward and very platonic movie meet-up. There was no chance in hell that Castiel thought of him that way. After all, apparently the guy could pretty much have his pick of anyone on campus, with his ten chili peppers. And he’d never shown more than a friendly kind of interest in Dean.

He’d said yes to today, though.

And when he’d noticed Dean in his class, he’d decided to go and see Dean’s in return. Yes, probably just to make him squirm, as a warning not to keep creeping. But possibly, _perhaps,_ because he’d actually wanted to just be in Dean’s class, and…

Dean shook his head. It was this kind of stupid wishful thinking that got him into trouble. Before his last break-up, he’d been so ready to commit, he’d imagined it all out – it hadn’t even felt like imagining, he’d been so sure. If he could just have remembered that he wasn’t owed any happiness and the world definitely wasn’t going to give someone like him any of it for free, then things might have been okay.

Now, with Castiel, he still had the chance for things to be okay. He just had to focus on the fact that Castiel wasn’t into him that way, and that it _was_ a fact, and it might kind of feel like having a rock put on his chest just to say that to himself, but he just needed not to be stupid. Not get his expectations up. Remember that he was still, and would always be, his seven-chili self.

He wore his nice jeans, though. Even though part of him was rolling its eyes.

\-----

Outside the movie theatre, Dean waited, trying not to crumple and tear the tickets in his hands out of nervousness. His stomach was twisting and twisting. He didn’t think he’d be able to choke down any popcorn even if Castiel did end up offering to get him some.

He leaned one shoulder up against the wall of the movie theatre, facing the direction of the parking lot.

Maybe Castiel just wouldn’t come. It would almost be a relief at this point. Well – that was to say, Dean would be miserable, but at least he’d be a familiar and lonely kind of miserable, and he’d be able to just go home and be familiarly lonely and miserable in a nest of increasing piles of junk food and mounting dirt.

If Castiel came and things went wrong, though, that would be worse, a lot worse, and –

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean started. He jerked round and found Castiel standing there behind him, a little further into his personal space than Dean would have expected – not that he was complaining. Castiel was looking at him with an expression on his face that Dean would've thought was nervousness to match his own, if that hadn't been stupid to even consider.

“Cas, hey,” Dean said, trying to sound natural, “hey, sorry, didn’t see you there. Thought you'd come from the parking lot.”

“I walked from my home,” Castiel said, “instead of driving.”

“Oh, you live near here?”

 _Okay, Sherlock,_ Dean could hear himself saying in his head.

“Yes,” was all Castiel said in response.

Dean cleared his throat.

Yep. Awkward, just like he’d predicted. Fantastic. And of course Castiel was still dressed like a hot professor even though it was the weekend, and of course Dean just wanted to – to –

No, he wasn’t thinking about that.

“Uh, shall we?” he said, gesturing into the movie theatre.

“Yes,” Castiel said, and headed for the door. Dean got there slightly before him and pulled it open – and before he could stop himself, he was holding it so that Castiel could go through first, and giving him a grin on the way through. Castiel’s expression in return was just a little smile, but his eyes were bright and Dean thought that maybe he’d liked that.

Not that it was important, whether or not Castiel had liked it. Or how he’d liked it. In a friend kind of way, or in a –

Jesus. Dean was going to have to put his mind under house arrest so that he could leave home without having to deal with this line of thinking. He wasn’t going to be stupid. He wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t going to be stupid. They were here as work colleagues at the start of an awkward friendship, and no more. Ten chilis didn’t have feelings for seven chilis.

Inside, the theatre was old-fashioned and opulent, with lush carpeting and striped wallpaper and metal curlicued gold lights. Dean headed for the counter where a neatly-outfitted attendant was standing, looking expectant, with rows of candy and popcorn and drinks lining the shelves around them.

“Hi,” Dean said, and the attendant greeted him with stock politeness. “Uh…” He turned to Castiel. “What do you want?”

“Oh – um –” Castiel glanced hurriedly over what was on offer, looking wrongfooted. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting the question. At a normal friendly meet-up, they’d each be ordering their own things separately, wouldn’t they? Dean cringed. Why couldn’t he just act normal?

“If you don’t want anything…” Dean said awkwardly.

“I’d like a large popcorn,” Castiel said. “And a milkshake. Chocolate, please. Medium.”

He was standing close enough that his arm lightly brushed against Dean’s. Dean nodded, and looked back to the attendant, trying not to let himself feel heady.

“Uh, same,” Dean said. “Except, I’ll have, uh… uh, the salted caramel milkshake.”

“Okay, great,” the attendant said. “That’ll be -”

“You can eat a whole large popcorn on your own?” Castiel said, sounding surprised.

“Uh… well, no,” Dean said. “I didn’t think you’d wanna share.”

“Of course we can share.”

This was turning into a dream. Dean felt the need to pinch himself. It was a damn good dream, though, so he’d pinch later.

“Just the one popcorn, then,” Dean said to the attendant.

“Sure,” they said. “On its way. That’ll be twenty-one fifty.”

Castiel reached into his pocket and half-pulled out his wallet, but Dean already had his out. When Castiel started to protest, Dean waved him away.

“But you already paid for the tickets,” Castiel said, as Dean handed over two bills and the attendant pushed his change back over the counter, then went to get their drinks. Dean smiled.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s good of you to come. You’re suffering through watching this movie with me.”

“Not at all. I was glad you asked.”

Castiel didn’t break eye contact with him. They watched each other for one second, two seconds – three. Dean tried to shape more words to fill the space between them, but when Castiel looked at him with those bright blue eyes, twitched his mouth upward just a little at the corners like that, when he seemed at ease or even happy in the silence, just to be meeting Dean’s eyes…

Dean had to be going out of his mind. It felt, it really _felt_ like something was happening here. But Castiel was – Castiel had ten chili peppers. Dean was a seven. Dean was a charity case in a nice pair of jeans. There was no way.

They carried their snacks further inside, heading for their screen, which was still all dark and mostly quiet. Dean had chosen tickets at the back, assuming that Sam would be the one to come along, and Dean would be able to use the relative emptiness of the seats around them to be able to pelt his brother with mostly-unwanted trivia about the movie without bothering any of the other people at the screening. Sam wasn’t here, though. It was with Castiel that Dean sat down, and looked out over the all but empty theatre.

“Should start in a few minutes,” Dean said. Castiel was already chewing on the popcorn. He offered the box to Dean, who scooped out a handful and ate it. They sat together in the pleasant dark.

Dean tried to relax into his seat, but having Castiel so close to him was like sitting next to a livewire. His awareness of the closeness of their legs was growing. He could feel it all the way through his body, how much he wanted them to be able to touch. Like a hunger. A hunger he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time, for someone else’s body against his own, somewhere, anywhere.

Damn it. He wasn’t being _stupid._

But he couldn’t stop thinking about how if he just moved his knee slightly further to the left, it would be against Castiel’s.

He cleared his throat. Pulled himself together. He couldn’t just do that. He might make Castiel feel incredibly uncomfortable. He _would_ make him feel that way, because Castiel just saw him as a friend. A colleague. That was a _fact._ Anything else was a just a stupid hope. He _had_ to remember that.

Castiel took a big slurp of his milkshake.

A distraction. Dean grinned, and picked up his own drink, and made a copy-cat sound. Castiel glanced over at him, humour written lightly into his expression.

He slurped again.

Dean copied, but louder.

Castiel’s smile grew wider.

“You know,” Dean said, “my favourite milkshake flavour is actually a mixture of our two. Like, both together.”

Now, Castiel’s eyebrows went up.

“Chocolate and salted caramel… together?” he said.

“Yeah. Like, mixed. You can get it at that place at the mall… I forget what it’s called. It’s good, though.”

Castiel eyed Dean’s milkshake suspiciously.

“Seriously,” Dean said, enjoying Castiel’s scepticism.

“Let me try,” Castiel said, taking the straw out of his milkshake, slowly so none spilled out of the end and onto his lap.

“Uh,” Dean said. “Huh?”

“Let me try some of yours,” Castiel said.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” Dean said, because obviously _sure,_ and – and he held his milkshake out for Castiel to take in his hand, but instead Castiel just stuck his straw in and took a sip while Dean was still holding it, doing his best not to stare, and definitely not succeeding.

Castiel took his straw out of Dean’s milkshake, and stuck it back into his own, and took another sip.

He paused, letting the flavours mix in his mouth with his eyes narrowed. He had a fleck of chocolate milkshake just below his lower lip. Dean thought it might be enough to instantly unhinge him. He had to look away.

“Not bad,” Castiel said, after a few moments.

“Yeah?” Dean replied, trying to sound as though he wasn’t in the middle of the best crisis he’d had in forever. “It’s better when they mix them… in the store, you know.”

“You don’t know that,” Castiel said. “You didn’t try mixing them this way.”

He raised his milkshake.

“You can just use my straw,” he said. “It’s alright.”

Dean felt his usual concerns about germs, and sharing food, being utterly swept aside by the tsunami wave of the chance to drink from Castiel’s straw. Somewhere in his mind, he was smacking his head against a wall repeatedly. How old was he? Was he really going to risk all the bugs and nasties from sharing a straw, just for the sake of being able to put his lips where Castiel’s lips had been?

It wasn’t even a question. He was leaning in to take a sip before his brain had finished telling him not to. For a second, he was close enough to Castiel to smell his cologne. He took a sip of chocolate milkshake, and then swallowed reflexively.

“Oh,” he said. “Crap.”

Castiel huffed a little laugh.

“Can I…?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Of course.”

Dean took another mouthful, and this time remembered to hold it in his mouth before taking a sip of his own caramel shake. The two mingled in his mouth, sweet and salty and cold and delicious. He rolled them over his tongue, closing his eyes for a moment to think about the taste. Was it better than at the store?

He swallowed.

“Good?” Castiel asked.

“Mmm. Okay. But it’s definitely better at the place at the mall,” Dean said.

“Ah. You’ll have to take me.”

“Maybe I will,” Dean said, and it came out oddly aggressive, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. More people were coming in to sit down, now, though none of them sat as far back as Dean and Castiel. The screen lit up, and the light tinkling of a jingle started.

Dean settled back into his seat. He could still taste chocolate and caramel.

He wanted this to be a date. He wanted it _so_ badly. What he wanted, actually, was to be eighteen months deep into a relationship with Castiel that felt rock solid and to be able to look back on tonight and reminisce about their first date being this one.

But it wasn’t a date. It _wasn’t_ a date. That was the problem. Dean couldn’t make a move, because Castiel wouldn’t be expecting it, and he might get freaked out or be horrified.

In Dean’s mind, though, he couldn’t help it – as the light from the screen flickered over their faces, he was replaying the moment Castiel drank Dean’s milkshake right out of his hand; he was replaying both times he’d leaned close to Castiel to take a drink in return. He was replaying the pleased expression on Castiel’s face when Dean had held the door open for him. He was thinking about it, round and round, feeling as though his chest was filling up ready to burst.

Dean blinked, and the movie had started. He’d totally spaced out, thinking about Castiel. And as he tried to concentrate, he found it just kept happening. He’d be getting into the flow of the movie, getting lost in it as he’d always been able to every time he’d watched it up until now, and then – then Castiel would move slightly, and Dean’s brain would produce a series of exclamation marks and a detailed flashback to the exact same moments, milkshake moments, over and over. And he wanted to be mad about it, but he just couldn’t be, because thinking about Castiel felt so good. It felt even better than watching Tombstone.

That was more than something.

About halfway into the movie, Castiel leaned over.

“My milkshake is half finished,” he said. “When yours is too, do you want to pour it into mine and mix them so you can have your favourite flavour?”

He looked so serious.

Dean could only nod. More than a little helplessly. Yes, he wanted to mix the milkshakes together.

And he wanted to hold Castiel’s hand. And he wanted to find the exact words right now to be able to make all the things in his head possible. And he absolutely couldn’t, because – because _damn_ it, he was seven-chili Dean, that was why.

“Is it ready now?”

Again, Dean nodded mutely.

Castiel put out his hand for Dean’s milkshake, neatly decanted his own into Dean’s cup, and then handed it back to him, the whole thing done with easy dexterity and just enough shyness to be completely disarming.

“Thanks,” Dean managed. “You want some?”

Castiel nodded, and stuck his straw into the cup, and leaned over and took a sip. He got another little drip of shake on his lower lip, which he licked away as he pulled back.

And quite suddenly, Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

“Castiel?” he whispered.

Castiel turned to look at him. The movie, forgotten, flashed bright lights over his features.

“This might be totally out of nowhere, but, uh. Do you - do you wanna…” A large part of Dean wanted to just upend the milkshake in his hand over his own head and walk out. It seemed easier. It seemed more fitting for a guy like him. But Castiel was looking at him questioningly. “Do you wanna make this… like… a date?”

The words hung in the air between them, awkwardly spoken, clumsy, embarrassing. Castiel stared at him.

Dean was halfway to his best attempt at a smile, ready to play the whole thing off as a joke, when –

“What?”

“I just…”

“This wasn’t already a date?” Castiel said.

It was Dean’s turn to stare.

“It wasn’t,” Castiel said, sounding as though horror was dawning on him.

“Wait – it _was?”_ Dean said.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Was it?”

“I thought…”

“But when I asked you…”

“You asked, and I thought you meant -”

They broke off and gawped at each other for a long, long moment. The room around them was surreal to Dean, staring into Castiel's eyes.

“Uh,” Dean said.

“But you held the door open for me,” Castiel said. “And you bought our food. That’s customarily what you do on a date, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I mean – I mean, I thought – I thought _you_ thought it wasn’t a date,” Dean said. “But I –”

“Shhhh,” said someone in a seat not too far ahead of them. Dean ignored them.

“But you asked me to go to a movie with you,” Castiel said, more quietly. “And I thought… or maybe I just… I thought maybe you’d finally noticed how I felt, and –”

_“What?”_

_“Shhhhhh,”_ said the someone, more insistently.

Castiel didn’t repeat himself. He only looked at Dean, his expression unreadable. Dean thought, from his body language, that he was on the point of leaving. Dean's own heart was pounding, suddenly and furiously.

“Why did you ask me if it wasn’t that?” Castiel said. “Was it – a joke?”

“No,” Dean said distractedly. “Wait, wait, can we – can we go back to the part – the ‘how I felt’ part?”

“You can’t have missed it,” Castiel said, looking at him sceptically.

“Missed…”

“How I felt,” Castiel said, and Dean couldn’t completely tell in the dark, but from the sound of his voice, Castiel was definitely going red.

“But – but – you barely speak to me, most of the time,” Dean said.

“ _You_ barely speak to _me_ ,” Castiel said, with a touch of asperity.

“What? But I’m just – I’m – I mean –” Dean sought for the right words. “I’ve only got seven chilis,” he said, more than a little weakly.

Castiel looked at Dean like he’d actually pulled the milkshake-over-the-head move.

“What?” he said.

“I…” Dean didn’t know how to begin to explain. Of course Castiel hadn’t really known about the chili ratings, hadn’t ever been being smug. For a second, Dean thought about how Charlie was going to tell him ‘I told you so’ with a live orchestra for a backing track tomorrow morning.

“Maybe I should go,” Castiel said. “If this was just some kind of – of dare, or if you’re just making fun of me –”

“I’m not,” Dean said, a little too loud, and earned himself another angry _shhhhh._ “I’m not,” he said again, more quietly, and even more intensely. He had to talk. He had to say something, say it all, or Castiel was going to leave. Words piled up on his tongue, heavy, all of them wrong. He wasn’t the kind of guy who could save a situation like this. All he could get out was, “I swear.”

"So what are you doing?"

"I…" Dean swallowed. What the hell _was_ he doing? Hadn't he spent literally the whole of the past couple days reminding himself that dating was dumb and always went wrong? Why had he even thought he could try this? "I don't know," Dean said.

Castiel looked over his face for a few seconds, and then shook his head, and stood up.

“Wait,” Dean said, hopelessly, but Castiel was already leaving. He didn’t say goodbye, only walked away from him in the dark. Dean watched after him, his cheeks aflame, his mouth trying to shape words that wouldn’t come. Was it already over? Had he really managed to screw it up this fast?

At the end of their row, Dean felt his heart clench like a fist as Castiel stopped.

Castiel was still for a long moment. Dean stared at him. If Castiel didn’t look back, just clearly wanted to be left alone, Dean would have to let him go. But if there was any chance, any hint at all, that this wasn’t a sudden stupid abrupt end to what had been just starting to happen between them, Dean would take it.

Castiel half-glanced over his shoulder, just for a fraction of a fraction of a moment – and left.

Could that do it? Could Dean pretend that was enough of an excuse to follow? He felt nauseous. His chest was squeezing. The floor had disappeared out of his day, and he was falling. Tumbling downwards.

Rooted in inaction. Stuck in his seat. He had to leave, didn’t he – but to chase after Castiel, or not? He couldn’t. Could he? If Castiel had wanted to talk, he’d have stayed. Or if he’d met Dean’s eyes as he’d looked back, it would have been an invitation to talk outside. Maybe, if Dean were – fuck, if Dean were a ten-chili guy from a movie, he could go chasing out of there anyway and know that Castiel would be happy about it. But he was just… Dean. Clumsy. Awkward. Dumbass.

So, he should... go home?

Or to go to a bar and try to forget all about this – Jesus, that sounded good right about now. A strong drink or two or three should take the edge off, and even if it didn’t bring the floor back and stop him falling, at least he’d be happily oblivious to it.

Dean put the mixed milkshake into the cupholder in the arm of his seat. Standing up, he patted his pockets automatically to check he had all his things, and looked back to the pair of seats where they’d been sitting together just a few moments before. He couldn’t connect to the fact that he was here, and not right there with Castiel anymore. It felt silly and nightmarish. The empty seats and the sad milkshake and the wallet on the floor.

The wallet on the floor?

Dean stooped, and his heart rate managed to find a way to amp up higher. This was Castiel’s wallet. He remembered the colour of it, from when Castiel had half-pulled it out of his pocket to try to pay for the popcorn. Holding it in his hand, Dean swallowed. This belonged to Castiel. He’d need it back.

That was something Dean could do that was simple and it was right. Before he could think too hard about it, he strode down the row of seats and hurried towards the theatre exit. He gripped the wallet hard in his hand. Castiel couldn’t have got far. Dean would just give it back to him, and then - and then if it looked as though Castiel wanted to hear his side of things, then he’d just say some stuff. Something. He’d say something. He didn’t know what. What could he say?

 _How I felt._ The words, in Castiel’s voice, kept swinging back into Dean’s mind like a wrecking ball hitting a flimsily built wall. _How I felt._

That meant… it meant Castiel really liked him. Had really liked him. And meanwhile for months Dean had just been ignoring him and rolling his eyes.

God, he was an idiot. He was such an idiot.

He burst through the doors of the movie screen and half-walked, half-ran towards the entrance. The attendant, standing behind his counter and cleaning a popcorn scoop, gave him a startled look. He had to be wondering why the hot guy and his tagalong were running out of the theatre. Dean swallowed and pushed out of the exit. The sun hit him hard after the air-conditioned lobby, and he squinted. Surely, surely Castiel couldn’t be too far away. He’d come from the direction opposite the parking lot, so –

“Dean?”

Dean jerked around. And there he was.

Leaning up against a wall outside the theatre was Castiel. At the sight of Dean, he stood up straight, his brow creased.

“Hey,” Dean said. “I, uh…”

“You followed me,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, I…” He trailed off. He had to give back the wallet, and he knew it. But it was something concrete tying him to Castiel, and he didn’t want to give it up.

“You didn’t have to,” Castiel said. He stood up straight, but didn’t come any closer.

“Well, I, uh…”

Words just wouldn’t come out. There was a long silence. Dean didn’t know where to look. If he gave the wallet back, would Castiel just leave again?

“Dean…” Castiel said. Dean moved a little closer to him to be able to hear him properly. “I… I thought things were going well today. I was enjoying myself a lot and it does feel strange that you weren’t thinking of it as a date, but you asked if it could be one, and – if that wasn’t a joke, then maybe we could…”

He looked up at Dean. There was a look in his eyes like a dam ready to burst. Dean swallowed hard. Small things first. He held out the wallet.

“You left this,” he said.

Castiel looked down at it, and Dean watched the blood rush to his cheeks.

“Oh,” he said. “I see. That – that’s why you…” He cleared his throat, and seemed to try to pull himself together. “Thank you.”

He took it, and turned away.

“No – wait –” Dean said. This time, Castiel didn’t pause. He walked away, and he didn’t look back. Not even for a moment.

\---

“And then,” Dean said, “he left.”

Sam grunted. The evening light was sighing pleasant and golden through Dean’s kitchen window, so he was sitting at his breakfast bar to Skype with his brother. They hadn’t planned to call, but Dean hadn’t felt like being alone.

“And you didn’t try to stop him? Or call after him?” Sam said.

“I, uh.” Dean swallowed. “No.” A hundred things he’d wanted to say, and all of them stuck in his throat. Stupid seven-chili throat. “Look, what was I gonna do, call out to him from across the street like we’re in a movie? C’mon. I’d have looked ridiculous.”

“Yeah… I guess.” Sam sounded dubious, and judging from the slightly grainy image of him on the screen of Dean’s laptop, he looked it too. “But you… hmm.”

There was a pause. Dean tapped the screen.

“Did you freeze?”

Sam’s face eased into a half-grin.

“No. I just don’t know what to tell you.”

“Just tell me to suck it up,” Dean said.

“Okay. Suck it up.” Sam sounded conflicted as he said it, but Dean nodded quickly.

“Got it,” he said. His jaw was tight. He still hadn’t changed out of the clothes that he’d chosen so carefully to go meet Castiel in. “Anyway, how’s it been this week with the new job?”

“It’s okay,” Sam said. He took an audible gulp of something that looked like sludge.

“Dude. Are you drinking literal swamp.”

“It’s a kale smoothie,” Sam said, sounding half-amused and half-defensive. “I tried to make one for you last time you were in town. Remember?”

“Oh, man.” Dean shuddered dramatically, trying to take his mind off things by playing it up for Sam. “Think I repressed that memory.”

“Shut up,” Sam said amicably. “Yeah, anyway, this new place is okay. Loads of great people around. The boss is awesome. So much better than Crowley. I think I can actually do some good stuff here.”

“Yeah?” Dean said distractedly. Paying attention to Sam wasn’t usually this much of a problem, but Castiel’s face kept pushing to the front of Dean’s mind.

“Yeah, I’m meeting a new client for the first time tomorrow. He’s been in prison six months and I’m pretty sure he’s innocent. Either way, his state-appointed lawyer didn’t do crap with his case. There are so many things we can use. I think I can get him out of there.”

“Atta boy. Making a difference.” Dean pretended to mop a tear from his eye.

“Ha. Yeah, right.”

“So, anyway. I –” Dean was interrupted by the sound of tinny guitar strains, and frowned as he delved into his pocket for his phone. “Sorry…”

It couldn’t be – he could barely hope that it might be Castiel – but no. The name that came up was Charlie’s.

“One sec,” Dean said to Sam, and slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey, nerd,” Charlie said. “So?”

“So?”

“Nuh-uh, don’t be coy. Tell me all about it, come on. Did you make out the entire movie or just half?”

Dean could feel his face heating up again. On his laptop screen, Sam had picked up his own phone and was looking down at it, scrolling – but he glanced up at Dean’s silence.

“Whoa, did it get too hot to talk about?” Charlie said, her tone teasing.

“Uh. Well, actually, uh. It kinda – it kinda didn’t go great,” Dean said. “You know, I’m actually on a call with Sam right now, so –”

“Oh, I can totally go…”

“No, it’s fine,” Sam said over her, his voice crackling through Dean’s laptop speakers. “I actually just got an email I should answer. Go ahead.” He sank back into his phone with an expression of concentration.

Dean cleared his throat.

“It’s okay. I can talk. So,” he said. “Uh.”

“Didn’t go great?” Charlie pressed lightly, sounding concerned.

“Well. Yeah. See, he kinda left halfway through. ‘Cause, uh. I kinda asked if he wanted to make it a date.”

“Oh, crap,” Charlie said after a moment, with feeling. “So… he doesn’t like you that way, or what?”

“That’s the thing,” Dean said wretchedly. “He maybe does, or something.”

“He does? Then why…?”

“He sorta… he thought I was just kidding with him about the date thing. He was pretty upset. And then he just got up and left the movie.”

“He thought you were kidding? What – but you went after him, right? Told him you meant it?” Charlie said.

“... Yeah, I followed him,” Dean said, feeling trepidation setting in.

“And you told him that you weren’t kidding?”

“Well, I…” Dean swallowed.

“Dean, tell me that he knows you weren’t kidding about making it a date.”

“I said it, when we were in the theatre. But I don't think he believed me.”

"Crap." Charlie breathed out. "And he still didn't believe you? Even when you chased after him?"

"No, I… no."

“What did you say?”

 _Nothing,_ Dean thought. But he couldn’t just tell her that. He cleared his throat.

“You – you know the bit in Megamind,” Dean said instead, while a part of him died at the fact that he was making this reference. “Where, uh, where Roxanne finds out Megamind’s been lying to her all along and she walks away in the rain, and he just lets her go because there’s nothing he can say?”

On Dean’s laptop, Sam made a face of confusion at the camera.

“ _What,”_ Charlie said.

“You made me watch the freaking movie,” Dean said, “you can’t be missing the reference –”

“No, I get the – Dean, you – okay, _what?_ Megamind had been lying to Roxanne the whole time and that’s why he had nothing to say. But you didn’t lie to Castiel at all. You just each had the wrong end of the stick, kind of? Right?”

“I…” Dean swallowed hard. How to explain it? How to put it into words? When he’d asked Castiel if they could make it a date, Castiel had looked at him as though he really had lied and been blue and giant-headed all along.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Put her on speakerphone.”

Dean threw him a look, but didn’t bother arguing. It wasn’t as though things could get a lot worse with them both being able to hear each other.

“What even happened when you followed him?” Charlie said, sounding exasperated. “You just literally stared at him walking away?”

“Not… exactly.” Dean cleared his throat. “He kinda gave this big speech about how he’d been having a good time and if I wasn’t kidding about making it a date, maybe we could. Then I gave him back his wallet. And I guess he thought that was all I followed him for, so then he left again.”

There was dead air for a second. On Dean’s laptop screen, he noticed Sam was looking back up at him again, a definitely disapproving expression on his face.

“You what?” Charlie said eventually, at the same time as Sam said,

“It does sound pretty bad now that I hear it again.”

“I just – I was gonna say something,” Dean said, his face burning. Stuck between the judgement of his brother and Charlie. As if today couldn’t get any worse.

“So why didn’t you?” Charlie’s voice on the phone was as confused as Sam’s expression.

“I don’t know.”

“You must know,” Sam said. “You’re the one who did it.”

“I really don’t, I just – whatever, I don’t,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Charlie said, “seriously, you could’ve just told him it wasn’t a joke, told him that you like him –”

“Well, I didn’t okay?” Dean said, cornered. “And probably he didn’t wanna hear that crap from me anyway.”

There was a short pause. Dean cursed himself silently for having put that into words, which Charlie and Sam would now have to awkwardly try to disagree with while privately they'd surely be able to see his point.

“Well, _clearly_ he does,” Charlie said, as Sam scoffed on the video. “If he said maybe you actually could make it a date, clearly he likes you.”

Dean gritted his teeth. Enough bullshit, he thought.

“Well then,” Dean said, “maybe he doesn’t know me well enough to realise he should steer clear.”

“Wait… what?” Sam said.

“Dean, that’s – why would he do that? You like each other! So…”

“Come on. Seriously. It’s clearly not gonna last, so this is probably better anyway,” Dean said.

“What?” Sam said again.

“Okay, hold on, Mr Optimistic,” Charlie said. “How would you even know what’s gonna last and what’s not? Who are you, Shawn Spencer? Actually, maybe, because literally that guy’s whole thing is that he says he’s psychic and he’s not. And neither are you. You don’t know what’s going on in Castiel’s mind, do you?”

“No,” Dean said, “but I know that I’m –”

He stopped himself before he could say any of the insults that sprang to mind. _A piece of crap. The college disaster. The heavy-drinking, weird-smelling wonder. A waste of freaking space._ He didn’t need to sound any more pathetic by saying them out loud, but he didn’t know how else to explain that this was probably for the best.

“You’re what?” Charlie said, and her voice had gone quieter.

“I’m…” Dean leaned back in his chair. “I’m seven chilis.” He heard Charlie let out a staticky sigh of weariness on the phone. “I mean, come on. Like, being honest, we all know the truth is that it’s pointless.”

“No, Dean…”

“Seriously…”

Sam and Charlie leapt into monologues – dating was always a gamble, you never knew until you tried, all the rest of it. Dean tried to hold onto his temper. He wished they’d stop dancing around the truth. The truth was, Dean not being able to explain himself properly to Castiel and messing up their date was just the tip of the iceberg as far as him getting things wrong went. He screwed up more often than not – sometimes on purpose, this last year or so.

Castiel just didn’t know that yet. He didn’t know that Dean was wrong and pretty dumb and kind of gross a lot of the time. He didn’t know that Dean drank too much and lived off junk food and wore old clothes and felt kind of ridiculous when he tried to do anything else.

Castiel didn’t know how much he really deserved better. Except after today’s screw-up, maybe he had more of an idea.

“Is this because of what happened last year?” Dean caught Sam saying. “Dean, I know getting cheated on was…”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, waving his hand to stop them both talking, immediately. He pushed away the sick feeling in his stomach, reached for words to get the two of them off his back. “I’m not trying to fish for… look, I’m fine. And Castiel is fine. It’s all _fine._ This is just, like, how it would’ve been anyway. Just, he’s realised I’m not worth it a lot sooner than he could’ve done, right?” He tried to say it like a joke.

“He’s realised you’re not worth it?” Charlie said, and now her voice sounded less reassuring and more snappish. “No, hold on. Okay. That’s a lie."

Dean had never heard her sound quite so serious. He made a face at Sam on Skype, who made a face back.

"I just…" Dean started, but was swiftly interrupted.

"You don’t know he’s realised anything of the kind," Charlie said. "You just decided for yourself that you’re not worth it. And you know what that probably looked like to him? When you didn’t say anything? That probably looked like you decided _he’s_ not worth it.”

There was a pause.

“What?” Dean said.

“What did she say?” Sam said. “I couldn’t hear all of that.”

“I… she…” Dean shook his head. “Charlie, I didn’t… I didn’t decide any of that.”

“You could’ve told him you weren’t kidding,” Charlie said.

“He was walking away!”

“So you could have called out after him.”

“But – I would’ve looked ridiculous!”

“According to who?”

“Uh –”

“And so _what?”_

Dean swallowed hard. He heard Charlie take a steadying breath.

“Okay,” she said. “Look. I’m being harsh right now. I don’t wanna be too much, here. I’m gonna go cool off in a sec but I want to say my piece, like – like I’m just gonna try to channel Uncle Iroh right now, because someone’s gotta tell you, okay, like – if this whole thing really is no big deal to you, then you’re right, you’re both better off not trying to do anything more about it. But I think that this is a big deal to you? I think you do give a crap about him? I think you want something to happen between you guys. And I think if you gave a crap about yourself, like _really,_ like not just when you’re wearing nice jeans or whatever but _really,_ then I think you’d want to tell him the truth. ‘Cause you’d want to give it a shot.”

“I’m just…” Dean managed. Charlie’s words were washing over him but not going in. “Look… I – it’s, uh, it’s nice of you to, uh –”

“I’m not being nice,” Charlie said. “Stop it. Look. If you thought you were a ten-chili guy, you’d tell him, wouldn’t you?”

“... I don’t know,” Dean said. His heart was beating too hard.

“Then think about it,” Charlie said, and then softened her voice. “Just – think about it, okay?”

Dean stopped himself, at the last moment, from saying _whatever._

“Yeah,” he said.

“Okay. I’m going now. Sorry I interrupted your call with Sam.”

“It’s cool,” Dean said, and when Charlie said goodbye, he hung up.

“Tough love,” Sam said.

“Mm?”

“That’s the face you always used to make when Mom told you to eat your spinach.”

Dean pulled a face.

“Nasty.”

“Good for you, though.”

“Whatever,” Dean let himself say, this time.

\---

Late that night, Dean shrugged off his clothes, and stepped into the shower. For a second, he just stood in the quietness of it without turning it on, looking up at the plastic showerhead. Stupid thing, he thought. When it wasn’t on and working, it was just a lump of plastic with holes in it. Pretty useless.

Like him, standing in the shower with no clothes on and the water not running. Not what he was supposed to do. Not right. Weird.

Weird and pathetic, to be relating to a fucking shower head.

He reached out and twisted the water on. At first it ran cold, but he stood under the jet with his teeth gritted until it warmed up – too hot for a second, until it settled at the right temperature.

What was he going to do? Tomorrow he had to face Castiel. What was he supposed to say? Or did they just avoid each other forever, now? The thought made Dean cringe, his stomach twisting. That feeling of hot-and-cold nausea hadn’t really left him, all day.

Plus, Dean also had to face Charlie tomorrow, who had sounded so angry and disappointed before she’d hung up that he doubted they still had a working friendship, let alone something outside of work. It wasn’t like he was ready to make nice with her, either. She just didn’t get it.

She didn’t get how ridiculous it would have been, how stupid it still would be, for Dean to bother trying to explain himself to Castiel. How pointless. He could imagine the laughs on people’s faces. They all knew he was seven-fucking-chili Dean. Heavy-drinking, kind-of-nasty-smelling Dean. He was a loser. He wasn’t the kind of person who could just come out and talk about feelings and have it be good, Christ. All his feelings were just… Dean winced, and scrubbed at his skin. They were gross. Loser feelings were gross.

He swiped a dripping hand over his face, and breathed in the steam of the shower.

Loser feelings were gross?

What was he, eight? Eight years old, to be thinking that? Jesus.

He heard Castiel’s voice in his head again. _How I felt._

_How I felt._

Castiel had liked him. Had actually liked him. Castiel hadn’t laughed at Dean when he’d thought Dean was asking him out on a date to see _Tombstone_ , had he? He’d just said yes. Obviously, Dean had blown that now. But there had been a time when Castiel hadn’t been disgusted, or whatever, by the idea of Dean liking him.

Which didn’t really fit with the whole _loser feelings were gross_ thing.

Dean squeezed some shampoo onto his palm, and began to lather it into his hair. It smelled like flowers. Charlie had convinced him to try a jasmine and rose shampoo when they’d gone shopping together.

Charlie… now it was her voice that Dean heard in his mind, insistent. _If you thought you were a ten-chili guy, you’d tell him, wouldn’t you? Just – think about it._

Ugh. She didn’t get it. What was the point of imagining himself as a ten-chili guy? He wasn’t one. Everyone could see that. Everyone could see he wasn’t in Castiel’s league.

A bit of shampoo got into Dean’s eye, and he blinked hard to get it out.

Everyone could see it. Except Castiel himself, who… must have thought Dean was in his league. At some point. When he’d said yes to a date.

Right?

Dean tried to put himself in Castiel’s shoes. Walking through the school with his tea and his sweater vest. Catching sight of Dean in the teacher’s lounge and being… what, happy about it? Wanting to talk to him… being excited at the thought of going on a date with him? Castiel had to think Dean was attractive on some level, then, didn’t he?

That glimpse of himself as kind of good-looking that Dean had seen when he’d gone into school wearing his nice jeans – Castiel must have seen that even before Dean had been trying to dress up. Because Castiel had said _yes_ to the date when Dean had still been drinking heavily every night and coming to school in a shirt that smelled like yesterday.

Going still under the thrum of the water on his head, Dean let that thought sink in. Castiel had said _yes_ to a date with the Dean who hadn’t been making any effort. With the Dean who was clearly a mess.

A complete mess. A rude mess, too. And Castiel had still said yes _._

Sure, they’d had a good time together on the date when Dean had been making an effort, but Castiel had seen him when he was making zero attempt to look good or act dateable, and Castiel had still thought, _yes. I’ll date him._

Dean’s chest squeezed. He put his hands up into his hair to make sure all the bubbles had been rinsed out.

He thought about Castiel’s sweater vests. His tea. His face as he’d poured their two milkshakes together in the movie theatre.

There had been enough crappy people in Dean’s life, and he was old enough now, for him to know that Castiel… Castiel was a rare one.

Being with him in the theatre, feeling the start of something happening between them – it had felt – yeah, just, good. Like, _good._

_I think you do give a crap about him? I think you want something to happen between you guys._

But so what if Charlie was right? So what if Dean wanted something to happen? It wasn’t as though Castiel would want to hear anything from him, not now. It was all already too late. He’d blown it before he’d even got his head right about any of it.

 _If you gave a crap about yourself… you’d want to give it a shot,_ Charlie’d said. But didn’t she see how stupid that would be? How pointless? It was too late, anyway. He’d already blown it.

 _Unless,_ said a little voice in Dean’s head.

Dean poured out some shower gel and washed under his arms.

 _Unless,_ said the voice again.

He lifted his arms up, and let the water wash away the bubbles.

 _Unless it’s not too late,_ the voice said.

Dean stopped moving. He realised that he was breathing a little harder than normal. Just the idea that it might not be too late – that he could still do something, could still pull it back –

No. It was stupid, wasn’t it? It was a stupid idea. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t cut out for it. He wasn’t anyone’s romantic hero, he couldn’t fix this like he was in a movie, he wasn’t – he wasn’t – he’d already screwed it up, he was a mess.

But Castiel had said yes to him once, when he’d been a mess.

Castiel had said yes. So… the thought felt painful, unreasonable, laughable, but he pushed through and tried to think it anyway – _so_ , maybe even when he was a mess, a fuck-up who looked like garbage and smelled worse, maybe even then he still sort of somehow was, was – a yes.

Maybe he could let himself do this. Let himself shoot his goddamn shot for Castiel Novak tomorrow instead of awkwardly ignoring him. Not push away and cringe at how he felt. Just feel it. And do something about it.

His stomach roiled. Castiel would probably be horrified. And Dean would be the laughing stock of the school in minutes. If the chili system was still up, he’d be down to a one.

But… Dean liked Castiel.

He did. He really, really did. He could feel it. Undeniable. Light and heavy at the same time. He wanted to go on another date with Castiel. He wanted to see that smile again. He wanted to share a milkshake again. He wanted Castiel to put his hand on Dean’s cheek and hold him steady and lean in and kiss him. He wanted it so much it felt like a twist of painful energy inside him. His skin prickled where he could imagine Castiel touching it.

He could just ignore that, never even try to say anything. But why? It was how he felt. It wasn’t ridiculous, was it? Or maybe some people would think it was, but Dean didn’t have to be one of them. He could feel how he felt without cringing at himself. Fuck, he just could do that. He didn’t have to get in ahead of every laugh and pointing finger. One-upping them by doing all their work himself was a pretty shit victory anyway.

So Dean could… he could go in tomorrow and tell Castiel that he hadn’t been playing a joke on him.

He could tell Castiel that he liked him.

And if Castiel told Dean to stop with words or body language or anything then Dean would shut the hell up. But he didn’t have to assume that Castiel didn’t want to hear any of it before even trying. He didn’t have to think the goddamn worst of himself all the time just so no one else got the edge on him. He didn’t have to always decide it was already too late, and he wasn’t worth it. He lifted one of his feet up and smeared bubbly shower gel onto it, balancing awkwardly.

Ugh. Charlie was going to be absolutely crowing that he’d actually thought about it, like she’d asked.


	8. Monday Morning

In fact, when Dean called Charlie early the next morning, she sounded more groggy than triumphant.

“Whassat?” she mumbled.

“Charlie,” Dean said. “Uh, look, sorry, and you were right.”

“Mm?”

“You were right,” Dean said. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Ovviousssly I was,” Charlie said sleepily. “What about?”

“Pretty much all of it,” Dean said. “Listen, I’m going to –”

“What time is it?”

“Like six,” Dean said. “Ish. But hey, I just need you to –”

“Dean, why… six in the… why? You know I live right by school ‘n’ I don’t have to wake up until seven normally…”

“Ah.” Dean swallowed. “Forgot about that.”

Charlie let out a sigh.

“What do you want,” she said.

“Uh, well, I need to get hold of a milkshake. And I found a place that’s gonna be open but I’m probably gonna be late for my first class, so I wanted to ask if you could maybe cover for me or get someone to do it…”

“You need a… milkshake?”

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed his keys and wallet, holding his phone up to his ear as he used his elbow to open the front door.

“Are you… okay?” Charlie said slowly. “Do you need… I mean, should I call Sam?”

“Huh?”

“Like… do you need some help?”

“Oh, no, I’m not – Jesus, Charlie, I’m fine. This isn’t a cry for help via milkshake.”

“I’ve cried for help via weirder things,” Charlie said.

“Charlie, I swear. I need it for… for Castiel.”

He heard Charlie draw in a breath.

“Are you gonna…?” she asked.

“Think so,” Dean said.

“ _Yes,_ Dean Winchester. _Yes.”_

“Don’t,” Dean said, pushing back a grin. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not,” Charlie said.

“You think I have a chance?”

“Hmm.” Charlie paused for a second, thinking, and then said, “You said you waited for him to give a big speech about actually making it a date, and _then_ you just handed him back his wallet, right?”

Dean swallowed.

“But,” Charlie said, “he did say yes to you in the first place, and if I’m honest, he’s been clearly checking you out all year.”

“He has? And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“So,” Charlie said composedly, “I’d say… yeah, Dean. I think you have a chance.”

“Charlie? Hello? You didn’t _tell_ –”

“See you at school!”

Charlie rang off. Dean, standing in the hallway of his home, lifted the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen as though it could give him answers. Castiel had been checking Dean out… all year? All _year?_

That was ridiculous. Didn’t he know how much better he could do than Dean? Jesus Christ. This meant that Castiel probably had actual expectations of what it would be like to be with Dean. Expectations that Dean would unavoidably end up disappointing.

Even if Castiel did accept Dean’s apology and agree to go on another date, what then? Another date after that, maybe even the start of a relationship – but pretty soon, Castiel would figure out that Dean was… well. Wasn’t worth sticking around in a relationship for. Wasn’t enough. Couldn’t satisfy someone.

A sudden, sharp spike of resentment struck Dean in his chest. Why did he have to be himself? Why couldn’t he be someone better, more intelligent, more attractive, with his life actually together? Why was he stuck being this ridiculous clumsy person that no one could stand to give a shit about for long, except the people who had to?

He wanted to be someone worth paying attention to. Someone who wouldn’t look stupid chasing after a guy down the street like it was a movie. Someone who could actually buy a milkshake for a guy he had a crush on, and not have it be just embarrassing.

The dream of turning up to the school to talk to Castiel felt suddenly out of the question. He couldn’t actually do that, could he? Who did he think he was? He had to be real with himself. He was a grunt. He was a guy who’d figured out how to do some engineering and weaselled his way into a job teaching it. He wasn’t hot enough or smart enough to be with anyone, let alone someone as hot and smart as Castiel. It was laughable that he’d even been imagining it for a second there. Seriously, who did he think he was? It wasn’t as though –

Dean stopped.

He stopped, and he frowned.

Still standing in his hallway, he took a breath, and let it go.

These thoughts.

This was the kind of bullshit that Dean had told himself just the night before that he shouldn’t think about himself anymore. He was assuming that everyone thought the worst of him. He was deciding that Castiel wouldn’t want to give him a chance, without ever giving him the choice. And he was thinking a bunch of horrible stuff about himself, just like he’d tried to decide not to do.

Dumb piece of crap, he thought, couldn’t even keep up a decent attitude for one whole day –

No. No, there it was again.

“Shut the hell up,” he said out loud. “C’mon. Play fucking nice.”

Talking to yourself, he thought, wow, that’s a good sign.

“I said,” Dean growled, “play nice. I’m going to get that goddamn milkshake.”

He stomped out of his hall and into the kitchen, grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots, and left his home. He could feel half of him – maybe even more than half of him – telling him how stupid he was going to look, and how hard everyone was going to laugh, and how he didn’t even really know Castiel and probably Castiel was just going to roll his eyes at Dean’s pathetic attempt at being romantic anyway.

But somewhere in the corner of Dean’s brain was a gritty little part of him that said, _so what._

Just two words, but they were enough to get him in the car, and driving to the outlet of his favourite milkshake place that was attached to a gas station, which would be open even at this early hour. Just two words, but they saw him through the line at the milkshake place, and got him to order the goddamn milkshake.

Just two words, but they got him into the parking lot at the school, his hands shaking, the milkshake on the passenger seat by his side.

––––

It’s not going to work, Dean told himself.

_So what._

You’re going to look so dumb. You’re a seven-chili loser going after a red-hot ten-chili professor.

_So what._

Even if it does work, six months down the line he’s going to realise he can do better than you. And he’s going to realise you’re not even worth breaking up with before going after someone else.

_So fucking what,_ Dean thought, his teeth gritted. He walked down the school building’s main corridor, headed for the teachers’ lounge. The milkshake was gripped in one hand, a few little drops of condensation gathered on the cool papery surface of the cup. Dean felt as though he was walking like a robot, making his way towards the place he knew Castiel would be.

Sitting and drinking his tea, grading a test, probably.

And Dean was going to sit down in front of him and say – say something. Probably something stupid. Probably something that wouldn’t work. Probably something that would only make everything worse.

_So what._

He was approaching the door to the teachers’ lounge at an alarming speed. He should at least have something vaguely prepared, shouldn’t he? Otherwise he was going to end up handing Castiel the milkshake without a word and walking off, like when he’d handed over the wallet before, like when he’d frozen up inside the movie theatre. What should he say? _Hey, so, I actually do really like you, I’m a piece of shit, give me a chance?_

He was almost at the door. There had to be something better than he could say. Something that sold himself a little more? _Hey, so. I’m sorry about what happened before. I’m actually really cool and very attractive, so you should probably date me while you have the chance._

Oh, god. His hand was on the door to the teachers’ lounge, and that was the last thing he’d thought. If that actually came out of his mouth when he tried to find something to say, he was going to have to move to another planet. Or the inside of a black hole.

Dean pushed open the door, and was greeted by the familiar sight of the teachers’ lounge. Its little details seemed stark and strange to him as he glanced around – there was the water cooler, and the countertop with the broken toaster on it, and the assortment of chairs where a few other teachers were sitting and chatting – and there was the table where Castiel usually sat.

And there, sitting at it, was Castiel.

Castiel looked up when Dean came in, and saw Dean, and set down his mug of tea. He held Dean’s gaze across the room.

Dean stood, unmoving, by the door. He could feel his heart in his throat. Castiel was wearing a sweater vest and his sleeves were rolled up and he looked so good that Dean wanted to punch himself in the face and leave. His hair was just a little mussed. His blue eyes were watching Dean, intense and serious. No hint of irony or humour. Just frank, wordless acknowledgement of the fact that there were feelings between them.

The chatter from the assortment of chairs was dying out as the people sitting in them seemed to notice the way that Dean and Castiel were staring at each other. Dean cleared his throat and moved across the room towards the table, doing his best to ignore everyone else – as well as the voice inside his own head, which was listing out every possible way that this could go wrong.

Dean sat down at the table.

Castiel watched him do it, eyes steady. He leaned back in his chair just a little – defensive, but not leaving.

“Uh,” Dean said. “Hey.”

“Hello, Dean.” Before Dean could think of anything to say, Castiel kept talking. “If you’re worried about what happened yesterday causing any issues, you should know that I am very capable of keeping things professional.”

The milkshake was still in Dean’s hand, resting awkwardly on his knee.

“Right,” Dean said. “Right, right. Yeah. Uh, no. Not – um.”

Dean tried to remember what it was that he’d wanted to say. Tried to find a place to begin. Castiel, across the table, was watching him stoically.

“I got you this,” Dean said, and put the milkshake on the table, and slid it halfway across.

Castiel looked down at it, and then back up at Dean. His expression had shifted to confusion.

“What is it?” he said.

“It’s a milkshake. Half chocolate, half caramel. Uh.” Dean cleared his throat roughly. “Uh, look. I’m not good at this stuff. But I really need you to know that I never meant to make fun of you, or trick you, or… nothing like that. See, I thought we were going to the movie as friends but before we even met up there, I, uh. I realised you were a real… a real ten-chili guy. And I really wanted it to be a date. And after I screwed it up, I did come after you because I wanted you to stay, I just… like I said. Not good at this stuff. Honestly, I’m… I don’t know why I’m even trying this, except that you said you, uh. You liked me, and I –” Dean paused. Here it was. The heart of it, the embarrassing truth. Castiel’s face was impossible to read. “I like you, Cas. Uh, Castiel. I – I like you too. So I thought. If you wanted. We could maybe.” Dean’s sentences were getting shorter and more clipped in the face of Castiel’s unchanging expression. “Maybe have a do-over.”

He glanced down at the milkshake in the middle of the table, and then back up to Castiel. He swallowed. His heart was thudding so loudly in his chest that he’d have sworn Castiel had to be able to hear it. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to put them down on the table. He could solder beautifully with the steadiest of hands, but one confession to a hot guy and he was in pieces. Especially when the hot guy in question took so long to answer. It had to be bad news.

Castiel opened his mouth to deliver the let-down.

“You know what, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything,” Dean interrupted. “I get it if you don’t want to. Seriously, I get it. It’s okay.” He heard his own tone of voice, weighted heavily in wry self-loathing. “I can just leave you alone. Like you said, uh. Professional. We’ll just keep it professional.” He was halfway out of his chair, when Castiel said,

“Dean, wait.”

There was a slight break in his voice, as if he was nervous, and it was for that more than anything that Dean lowered himself back into his seat.

“Before I say anything else,” Castiel said, “First, I should say… I’m sorry.”

Dean’s thoughts were transformed abruptly into a series of question marks.

“Uhhhh,” he said. “Right.” He paused, thought for a second, and then had to say, “Okay. Wait. _You’re_ sorry?”

“I assumed the worst of you. I shouldn’t have. When you asked if we could make it a date,” Castiel said, “I assumed you were making fun of me because I’m – you know, not really… what’s the right way to… I’m not really ‘in your league’.” He said it carefully, as though unsure he was saying it right.

“Uh,” Dean said, his mind fully short-circuiting.

“But I shouldn’t have walked away without giving you a chance to speak.”

“No. No, wait. Hold on. Did you just… did I just hear you say that _you’re_ not in _my_ league?”

For the first time, a little visible flush of colour touched Castiel’s cheeks.

“Well,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “It’s… that much is fairly obvious, isn’t it?”

“Obvious?” Dean tried for a dry laugh. “You know what it… what it actually means, right? It means you think I’m…” Dean broke off. He couldn’t even say it, it was so ridiculous.

“On a different level of attractive,” Castiel said. “Yes, I believe I used the phrase correctly.”

Dean gaped at him, genuinely speechless.

The floor was somehow the ceiling.

Castiel, the hottest professor on campus, was sitting across from Dean and saying that Dean was – was – on a different level of attractive?

The idea was so vastly outside Dean’s understanding that he swore he could feel the ground shifting under him. His stomach was lurching. He realised he was staring at Castiel, open-mouthed.

“This can’t be a surprise,” Castiel said.

“Uh,” Dean managed.

“You seem confused,” Castiel said. “I don’t completely understand why.”

“But – I mean –” Dean tried to pull himself together. Castiel had to be joking, and Dean was just making an ass of himself looking like he actually believed it. “I mean, okay, dude. C’mon. Be serious.”

“I am,” Castiel said blankly. “You’re… surely, I don’t have to explain it.”

Dean spread his hands out. Castiel was blushing even more, now, and Dean thought that he could feel himself going red, too. His heart was still going a mile a minute. And he couldn’t even tell if this was going well, or if he was being made fun of.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” Castiel said, his tone obviously trying for matter-of-fact. “Of course you’re out of my league.”

“Dude, if this is a joke…”

“It’s not a joke.”

Dean pulled a disbelieving expression.

“If you’re not out of my league,” Castiel said, “then why was I the one thinking we were on a date yesterday, and you were the one thinking we weren’t?”

“Because,” Dean said, “I’m a dumbass?”

“No,” Castiel said, sounding a little frustrated by the suggestion.

“Because…” Dean could feel a little part of him starting to light up at the way Castiel was looking at him. He was genuinely waiting for Dean’s answer. He – he really – Castiel was serious? This was all serious?

“Dean…”

“You’re out of your mind if you think that, though,” Dean said.

“I’m not,” Castiel said.

“Yeah.” Dean said. “Right.”

“Dean. By every possible measure, you are out of my league.”

“Seriously? Name one,” Dean said derisively, and then realised he’d essentially just begged for a compliment, and was opening his mouth to roll it back – but Castiel had already started talking.

“Put in literary terms, you’re the bad boy, Dean. With the heart of gold. And meanwhile I’m the stuffy awkward nerd with rusty people skills and a degree in skipping parties.” Castiel lifted one shoulder in an almost-shrug. “And overanalysing things to the point where everyone is self-conscious and the mood is dead. This being case in point.”

Castiel gave Dean a wry look, and then glanced away.

“But,” Dean said to him, and then had to stop.

No. This couldn’t be right. This couldn’t actually be happening.

What Castiel had said – it had come out of his mouth easily, unflinchingly, like it was just facts. The _bad boy?_ Had Castiel actually called him a bad boy? Was that how Dean looked, in real life, to another human being?

And the way Castiel spoke about himself, _stuffy awkward nerd…_ it was as though he had no idea how hot he was.

“But,” Dean tried again. “But dude, you have ten chilis. Everyone in the school knows…”

“Stop,” Castiel said suddenly. “No, wait, stop. This keeps happening. I have to ask. What are these _chilis?_ Why do you keep bringing up ten chilis? Is this some new form of slang that I just haven’t heard of yet? I don’t understand why every time we talk, chilis seem to come up…”

“You really don’t know?”

“I…” Castiel stared at him, visibly lost. “I cook with chilis sometimes? But I wouldn’t use ten in one recipe, my spice tolerance isn’t especially good.”

Dean snorted at that, he couldn’t help himself. And once he’d started, somehow he couldn’t quite stop laughing – he tried to suppress it, but he found himself grinning, and when he tried to speak he found he couldn’t immediately get the words out. Castiel didn’t know about the chilis. Castiel thought that – Castiel actually thought that _Dean_ was the hot one between the two of them.

“What?” Castiel said, though he didn’t look especially offended – in fact, he was watching Dean laugh with a kind of lightness in his eyes that reminded Dean of the way he’d looked on their date-that-wasn’t, back in the movie theatre.

“No, just…” Dean got ahold of himself. “The chilis are part of this thing… it’s like a rating thing. The students rate us on how hot we all are. And you’ve got the highest rating in the school.”

This time, it was Dean who got to watch Castiel’s mouth drop open.

“What?” Castiel said, in a voice so low that Dean felt his body respond to it.

“It’s just an app,” Dean said.

“An app?”

“Yeah. You get a rating out of ten chilis. Every teacher does.”

“And I’ve got…?”

“The full ten chilis, yeah.” Dean watched Castiel digesting this information, blue eyes searching Dean’s face for any sign of a lie or a trick. “And I’m a seven, so. I don’t know, dude. Seems pretty conclusive to me.” Somehow it didn’t cost Dean anything at all to tell Castiel he had the most chilis in the school, not now – not after hearing the way Castiel himself felt about Dean. The opinions of a bunch of students had never felt less important. Castiel thought that Dean was out of his league. And he was wrong, sure, but Castiel actually _thought_ it.

Sitting across the table from Castiel, Dean suddenly felt – felt attractive. Felt a little bit less like the school's notorious disaster, and a little bit more like… like the bad boy. It was so ridiculous, the way that made him so happy.

“But… how?” Castiel said. “Wh– _how?”_

“‘Cause,” Dean said. “That’s just how they voted.”

“But _why?”_

“Because…” Dean said slowly. “They think you’re the hottest.”

“But I’m…” Castiel was frowning hard. “That’s not possible.”

“Very possible,” Dean said. “And they’re right.”

Castiel stared at him.

“C’mon, man, ‘cause you’ve got the whole sexy professor thing down to a T. Sweater vests, and the way you, you know, talk about things in your class, and when you, I mean.” He swallowed, suddenly painfully self-aware and cringing at himself, but Castiel’s expression was lifting again, and Dean battled on the best he could. “When you roll those sleeves up. Damn.”

“You think that?”

“Yeah, man.”

“Oh.” Castiel looked down at the table, but his expression was – there was no missing it – outright pleased. And Dean, sitting and thinking about what Castiel had said about him, thought that his own face had to look pretty similar.

Castiel thought that he was attractive. Castiel thought he was a _bad boy._

“So,” said Dean aloud.

Castiel looked up, and after a moment of studying Dean, he reached one hand forward. Carefully, he picked up the milkshake from the centre of the table, drew it towards himself, and then took a sip. He took his time before swallowing it, an expression of concentration on his face, and then he looked up again at Dean.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “It’s good. What were you saying about a do-over?"

“Can I have some?” Balthazar asked, from across the room. “That was beautiful, by the way.”

––––

“So?” Charlie said, practically skidding up to Dean in the hallway during lunch, her tone urgent.

“Hello to you, too.” Dean stepped to one side, allowing the rush of students to move past them more easily. Charlie sidestepped with him, her eyes searching his face.

“Sure, hi,” she said. “C’mon, Dean, how did it go? I’ve been dying all morning.”

“Aw,” Dean said. “You care that much, huh?” He grinned internally, keeping his face as neutral as possible, drawing out the moment for as long as he could. She reached forward and punched him on the arm, not too lightly.

“No,” she replied. “I just got woken up stupidly early by my jerk friend, and I want to know if it actually made any difference.”

“Mmm. Sounds like a tough situation.” Dean leaned against the wall. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Dean, I swear to god, just tell me if it was worth it.”

Dean reached forward, and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Charlie,” he said in his most serious voice, “you should never doubt that what you do is worth it. Even the smallest person can change the course of the future….”

She punched him again, even harder.

“Ow,” Dean said, but he couldn’t help it – he was beaming, the happiness inside him just too much to contain for long. Charlie opened her mouth to insist on a proper answer to her question, when she caught sight of his smile and stopped.

“Holy crap,” she said softly. “It actually worked?”

“We’re going back to the movie theatre,” Dean said. “Tonight. On a date. For sure, this time.”

“Holy crap.” Charlie hit him again, and Dean grabbed his arm.

“Okay, could you at least hit me on the other arm?” he said. His smile hadn’t faded. Because Castiel had said yes to another date. Castiel wanted to go on a date with Dean. They were going to go on a date. All those imaginings that Dean had been holding back… those were allowed, now. He could think of Castiel that way, because – because Castiel thought of him that way, too.

“Holy crap,” Charlie said one more time. “Dean Winchester. He better treat you right.”

“What, like not punching me in the arm?”

“Like telling you every day that you’re a good man. And an absolute catch,” Charlie said. “Oh, my god, this is the best. Look at you.” She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a hug. Dean gave a little snort of surprise, before putting his arms round her shoulders in return. After a second, he held her tighter.

“Thank you,” he said. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know,” Charlie said.

“Was that Star Wars?”

“Yup,” Charlie said. “And don’t think I didn’t spot your Lord of the Rings back there, either.”

“Damnit.” Dean let her go. “Nothing getting past you today.”

“I’m on fire.” Charlie made a vaguely fiery hand motion, and then she held up one finger and said, “But hold on. Before I ask anything else, and trust me, I’m going to ask everything else – but first… for tonight. What are you going to wear? Because like, you’re almost maxed out on friend favours for today, but honestly if it’ll help then we can go back to the mall and I can help you to –”

Dean held up a hand to stop her.

“You’re the best,” he said, “seriously, but I’m good. I’m just gonna wear my clothes.”

“All of them?”

“Some of them.”

“Huh,” Charlie said. “Is that a twinkle of confidence I see in your eye?”

Dean dropped his chin, but he couldn’t stop himself smiling. Maybe it was, he thought. Because he felt pretty good.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Oh, shit. Also. There’s one more thing I should probably tell you.”

She sounded almost nervous, and Dean lifted his head. His first, most horrible thought was that Charlie had somehow orchestrated the whole thing as a prank – that Castiel didn’t really want to date him, and it was all some huge joke – but no, that would be wild –

“It’s about the chili pepper app,” Charlie said, mercifully stopping Dean’s spiral.

“The chili pepper app?” Dean repeated. “What about it?”

“So, I got around to taking the thing down this morning in the extra hour awake you gave me.” Charlie glanced around them in the hallway, checking that no students were loitering near them long enough to overhear what she was saying. “I didn’t think it’d be anywhere near that fast. But turns out, the app’s coding was total garbage. I mean, it was like, there were tumbleweeds in there where the code should’ve been, pretty much. It looked pretty but nothing worked.”

“Uh huh… right. Well…” Dean scratched the back of his head. “Good that it’s gone, then?”

“Yep,” Charlie said. “But I thought you might like to know that because the app was so terrible and garbage, it wasn’t registering a lot of people’s ratings. It was actually… as far as I can tell, only the creator’s opinion was actually being counted, because they were inputting it via the code instead of the UI…”

“In English?”

“There’s one whole person in the school who for sure thinks you have seven chilis,” Charlie said. “No one else’s opinion was counted. And that one person can’t code for shit. So, like… I know that this whole thing kind of sparked something for you, but it was basically… one massive lie?” She swallowed. “I really, um. Really should’ve checked that the app was literally any good at all before I told you about it, and I’m sorry if it made you feel crappy or judged, and I… and you’re… laughing?”

Dean couldn’t help it.

He’d spent so long worrying about his chili status, and comparing his to Castiel’s, and he’d actually let himself notice how incredible attractive Castiel was, all under the influence of an app that didn’t even work. He let himself laugh.

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Charlie said.

“I think I’m bulletproof today,” Dean said. “‘Cause I honestly don’t care, except that it’s hilarious. There isn’t even anything to say. Just… damn.” He shook his head.

“So… in the future, I should only tell you bad news on the days when you’re going on a date with Castiel, I guess. Good to know,” Charlie said.

“If there are any future dates,” Dean said, “the rest of the world could fall down and I swear to god, I’d laugh.”

“You’re cute, Dean Winchester. Let’s get lunch.”


	9. Monday Evening

As they entered the movie theatre, Dean held the door open for Castiel.

“Let me get the snacks,” he said, as Castiel walked through it with a bright-eyed look on his face. They left the cool dusk behind, stepping together into the movie theatre’s shabby grandeur. Dean’s hand was tingling. He wondered how soon on the date would be too soon to reach for Castiel, hold his hand. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely not,” Castiel replied. “It’s my turn to pay.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way.” Castiel took out his wallet and walked towards the attendant over at the concessions stand. Dean followed closely, and they leaned together on the counter.

“So,” Dean started, looking the attendant in the eye, but Castiel cut in.

“We’ll take a large popcorn,” he said, in his low, rough voice.

“And two milkshakes,” Dean put in.

“A chocolate and a caramel,” Castiel said. Dean was about to interrupt again to insist on paying, but Castiel continued, “And this is a strange request, but do you think you could mix them together? Half of each flavour in each?”

The attendant shrugged in vague acquiescence, and turned away. Castiel turned to look at Dean, and Dean realised he was staring at Castiel with his lips just a little parted, his eyes too soft. He blinked.

“What?” Castiel said.

“Nothing.”

Castiel slightly raised one eyebrow.

Dean didn’t want to lie or brush him off, but also didn’t know how to explain that the way Castiel had so easily asked for something to be made just the way Dean liked it – it made Dean feel so – so right, standing next to him. Dean felt good. Felt like Castiel had his back, like – like they were on the same side. In a way that mattered. But it was just a milkshake, and that was a lot of thoughts to be thinking about a milkshake, so Dean said,

“Just surprised that they’ll make it that way for us.”

Castiel accepted this.

“I intend to tip generously,” he said.

“You say, like I’m gonna let you pay.”

“Dean.” Castiel moved, and his fingers brushed against Dean’s on the counter. “Let me.”

Through the series of question marks and exclamation marks in his mind, Dean could only just about manage to say in a tone of voice that was definitely flustered,

“Okay.”

They headed into the movie theatre gripping their drinks, Dean carrying the popcorn and Castiel flashing their tickets to the attendant before opening the door for Dean on the way in. They found their seats, right at the back of the screen. The rest of the place was all but empty, just a few people down the front also sitting and waiting in the gloom.

Dean wondered for the first time what movie Castiel had booked for them. Castiel had insisted on being the one to pay for the tickets, this time. That made two in a row that Castiel had won on, Dean thought, and made a mental note that on the next date – if there was a next date – he’d make sure to pick up the bill.

When Castiel leaned over to grab a handful of popcorn, Dean said,

“So. What are we seeing?”

Castiel frowned slightly.

“I actually don’t remember,” he said. “I just booked the first thing that I saw so that we definitely had seats.”

Dean nodded seriously.

“That’s a long title,” he said. “Very unusual.”

Castiel’s expression shifted into something between immediate exasperation and warmth. Dean grinned at him, and took a sip of his milkshake through the straw. Castiel watched him for a second too long in silence, not responding to the joke, just looking at Dean.

“What?” Dean said. “If you’re not a fan of bad jokes, I’m gonna level with you, we might have to call this early.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I was just thinking… you are a ‘ten-chili guy’.”

Dean felt his mouth form a soft ‘o’ shape, and then he closed it, and swallowed hard. His brain scrambled for a decent response to being so earnestly flirted with, and in a panic came up with a distraction.

“Actually,” he said, “wanna hear a weird thing about the chilis? They were pretty much fake the whole time.”

“Fake?” Castiel said. He reached for some more popcorn.

“Yeah. Apparently the app was broken. I mean, not _totally,_ ‘cause it gave you a ten, and obviously you’re… I mean, that’s… that’s about right,” Dean said. God, he was so awkward – but somehow, judging by the look on Castiel’s face, it was actually working. “Anyway. Yeah, it was never even really a thing.”

“So,” Castiel said, “I suppose that means we get to decide our own chilis for ourselves.”

“Destiny is in our hands,” Dean said.

“So I could give you a chili for that joke.”

“You could,” Dean said. He grinned. “Probably you should. It was a great joke.”

“And one for your smile, too.”

Dean felt his chest actually squeeze. His expression must have done something strange, because Castiel looked worried.

“Do you not want me to –”

“No, I… it’s okay.” Dean cleared his throat. “It’s good. I… yeah, it’s good, you can…” He managed a laugh. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“No. It’s alright.” Castiel set down his milkshake in his cupholder. “I feel like a mess, too. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s dumb,” Dean said. “You’re not a mess.”

“Well,” Castiel said, “I don’t think you are, either.”

Dean moved his hand, on impulse, and then tried to cut off the action – but Castiel moved because he did, and reached back – and somehow, they were holding hands. Castiel’s palm was warm.

“Chili,” Dean managed. He expected Castiel to look confused, and question what Dean meant – ask him to put his feelings into words that actually made sense, express the overwhelming rush of being touched and feeling attraction in a way that a normal human being would understand. But instead, Castiel offered Dean a very small smile.

“Chili,” he answered.

The low lights went down, and the screen lit up. Castiel watched Dean for a moment longer, and then squeezed his hand and settled back into his seat to watch as the first commercial begin to play. Dean followed his lead, his head a whirl. Castiel was still holding onto him. Dean held on back.

The movie was the fourth Indiana Jones; when the title card came up on the screen, Dean managed to feel a little spike of humour through the muddle of his happiness. He could picture Charlie’s face if she knew that this was the movie he was sitting and watching tonight.

Castiel let go of Dean’s hand to take some popcorn, and then he came right back. When he did, Dean felt his heartbeat pound. It happened again – three times, four times, as the movie went on – and every time, Dean felt his chest compress.

At around the hour mark, Castiel leaned over closer to Dean, still facing the screen, to murmur,

“This movie is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s so bad.”

“Truly, it’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all good. I’m having a good time.”

“Me too,” Castiel said.

He was close enough that Dean could smell his cologne – so faint that it might just have been the way Castiel smelled, Dean wasn’t sure. It was good. He wanted to kiss Castiel’s cheek, it was right there. He swallowed hard. Not too fast, not too much.

“Chili,” he said.

Castiel turned his head to look at Dean, his expression surprised.

“For not liking the movie?” he asked.

“Definitely for that. Also for…” Dean swallowed. “Everything else.”

Castiel’s eyes searched Dean’s face. Dean felt himself starting to go red, and was glad of the dim lighting; after a moment, Castiel smiled slightly, and squeezed Dean’s hand. They went back to watching the movie, Dean’s pulse soaring. He didn’t know, but it really felt as though he might get to kiss Castiel before the night was over, and just the idea of it was sending his body into some kind of overdrive. Cate Blanchett’s terrible wig couldn’t even take his mind off the image of Castiel leaning in and kissing him.

Even the strange glowing aliens on the screen couldn’t put a dent in Dean’s mood. He kept his eyes on the movie but his thoughts were all on the contact between himself and Castiel. He tried moving his thumb, gently stroking the back of Castiel’s hand – Castiel didn’t move away, so Dean did it again.

Castiel gripped his hand slightly tighter just for a second before relaxing his hold, and Dean felt his stomach doing flips. He moved his thumb again, and Castiel was steady under the movement.

The feeling was so intense that Dean pressed his lips together, hard, to keep himself in line and not make it weird. He hadn’t had someone react like this to him touching them in so long that it felt nothing short of miraculous, even though it was just holding hands in a movie theatre while a crappy movie played out across the screen.

The credits rolled before Dean was ready. He tried to imagine telling Charlie that he’d wished Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull could have been longer, just so that he could have kept holding Castiel’s hand.

“What did you think?” Castiel said as he began to move – picking up his milkshake cup and sipping up the last of it, before getting to his feet.

“Terrible,” Dean said. “It was great.”

Castiel smiled at him.

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.” Dean stood up, wondering if it was too forward to want to take Castiel’s hand again as they left. It probably was, if Castiel wasn’t initiating it. Dean made up for it by walking a little closer to Castiel than he normally would, just so it felt as though they were moving together as a unit through the theatre, out into the main entrance and then through the doors to the outside world.

“Ah,” Castiel said, as they emerged into a downpour. “It’s raining.”

The droplets were heavy, already splashing down onto their heads as they stood in the centre of the sidewalk, with the theatre’s golden outside light melting over them and reflecting on the wet ground under their feet. Dean looked at Castiel, knowing that they should make a hasty goodbye and leave in their separate directions – Dean towards the parking lot and Castiel towards his home.

But he didn’t want to leave yet. He didn’t want to leave at all. He wanted longer, he wanted more. He stood still, letting the rain fall on him, and Castiel stood opposite him with his hair and coat getting wet.

“Well,” Dean said.

“Thank you for tonight,” Castiel said. He had to speak a little louder to be heard over the deluge. “If you wanted to do this again…”

“Yeah,” Dean said, way too fast. He winced at himself.

Castiel smiled.

“Chili,” he said.

Dean felt the little bubble of cringe inside him burst. Even when he was embarrassing, Castiel liked it.

“So… see you tomorrow at school,” Dean said.

“Yes.”

Castiel looked like he wanted to say something more, but then went silent. He wasn’t moving – just looking at Dean, his eyes asking a question. And if Dean had been the star of some kind of romantic movie, he might have thought that Castiel was hoping to kiss him goodnight – but there was no way. Dean wasn’t a freaking movie star, he tasted like milkshake and popcorn, and he was –

He was –

He was the guy Castiel had spent the whole movie holding hands with. Wasn’t he?

He was the guy Castiel had chosen to go on a date with, the one standing outside with him here in the rain. Castiel was looking at _him_ like that. Could’ve had anyone, but he’d gone with Dean.

He thought Dean was a ten-chili guy. And ten-chili guys could kiss their crush in the rain.

Dean stepped forward and put his clumsy hand on Castiel’s cheek. His heart was thudding so wildly he thought it might give out. Was this right? He leaned in and ached to close the final distance between them but only had the courage to press their foreheads together, and breathe, looking down at their chests being so close – hearing only Castiel breathing too, and the sound of the rain.

Castiel put his hand up and covered Dean’s, holding it to his cheek. Not asking for anything more – just asking with the gesture, _stay._

It would be fine, Dean thought. If nothing else happened, Castiel wouldn’t mind. If he totally blew this moment, it would be okay. Castiel would still like him. Dean had nothing to prove. They were on the same side.

_Chili,_ Dean thought. And kissed him.

Castiel’s lips were soft, and just a little chapped. Dean’s touch was hesitant, but then Castiel kissed Dean back – Dean’s chest was going to burst, because Castiel kissed him back, and the touch between them became something new. Something hard-won and fierce, a victory, a joy, a fairy-tale in fifteen seconds played out in front of the glowing lights of the movie theatre while the rain soaked them through.

When they pulled back, Dean rested his forehead on Castiel’s. He kept his eyes closed. At the centre of his mind, like a still point in the middle of a hurricane, was the knowledge that even in the rain, Castiel wasn’t moving either. Castiel wanted to be here, too.

Castiel kissed Dean again.

Every second that Castiel touched him was a farewell to the loneliness that had lodged in Dean’s chest. Dean returned the kiss, letting himself come to know the shape of Castiel’s mouth, letting the warmth of it feel good and right, letting himself trust for a second that when he pressed forward, Castiel would be pressing back – and there he was, matching Dean for longing, matching him for wanting, matching him for the obvious blazing joy between them that had to be lighting the street up brighter than the glow of the lamps above them.

They kissed again – and then again. Each time they pulled apart one of them chased it, and the other kissed back as though relieved not to be the only one wanting it, wanting more. The rain pelted down over them, and Dean could feel it dripping down his face, could feel the wetness of Castiel’s hair under his fingers as he pushed through it, could feel his clothes starting to cling to him as they got drenched. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to go anywhere.

“Dean,” Castiel said, pulling slightly away. “You’re shivering.”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

“You’re cold. We should… we should stop.”

Dean held still just a few inches from Castiel, wanting to let Castiel speak – keeping himself in check against the fact that all he felt like doing was melting back into their shared touch.

“You should get into the dry,” Castiel said.

“But I’m okay,” Dean said. “Seriously, I’m…”

His voice gave out when he tried to put even a little of how he was feeling into words. Castiel leaned in, and kissed him one more time.

“Meet me first thing tomorrow,” he said. “Early, before anyone gets into school.”

“Where?”

“In the teachers’ lounge. All I’ve wanted to do for months is kiss you on that table.”

Dean felt a wave of heat rush through him.

“Sure,” he managed. “Yep. Yep, I can do that. Yeah.”

“First thing, Dean.”

“First thing.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Dean said. “Hey, Cas?”

“Mm?”

“One more for the road,” Dean said, and leaned in and stole one last kiss – or was given one, really, with the way Castiel held him steady and kissed him soundly.

“You’re too cold. Get dry,” Castiel said, pulling away, and taking a step back.

“Yeah, I… you too,” Dean said. He could feel himself starting to grin, as what had just happened started to sink in. He’d just made out with Castiel in the street. Castiel, who looked completely soaked through, his hair sticking up in all directions, his coat dark and heavy-looking – Castiel, who also looked so incandescently happy that it was unmissable.

“Tomorrow?” Dean said.

“Tomorrow.”

Dean’s smile lasted all the way to his car, and all the way home. He showered, putting his wet clothes straight into the washing machine, and got into bed. He felt – as he went to sleep, he thought about kissing Castiel. And he felt good. He felt beautiful.


	10. After

_Eighteen Months Later_

“Dean, did you forget to take out the trash again?”

Dean, standing in front of the open fridge, winced as the question floated through from the hallway. He heard Castiel put down his keys in the bowl on the table, and then walk through to the kitchen.

“Uh,” Dean said. “No?”

Castiel eyed him narrowly.

“Okay,” Dean said. “Yes.”

“Dean, you said you’d do it today.”

“I know, I know. But look!” Dean gestured towards the fridge. “I reordered everything. Now we have all the dairy on this side, and you have your jelly in the door, so I can get to my baking crap without having to move every jar of strawberry jelly in the state to get to it. Seriously, why are there so many.”

“I might run out,” Castiel said.

“I might run out,” Dean said, “the door, if you don’t stop buying more jelly. And insisting it has to be kept in the fridge, even when it’s not been opened yet?”

“It keeps it nice.”

“It makes no difference, Cas.”

“So much criticism, from the man who forgot to take out the trash.” Castiel moved further into the kitchen, coming to inspect Dean’s handiwork in their fridge.

“What can I say,” Dean said. “I’m the bad boy. I don’t take out trash when I’m told.”

“You make me regret saying that to you every single day,” Castiel said.

“Mmm. Come here.” Dean slipped his hand into Castiel’s and, when Castiel turned to face him, pressed a kiss to his lips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s hand, and kissed him again. “But do you know what I miss more?”

Dean pulled away, his eyes searching Castiel’s face.

“What?”

“The days when you used to take out the trash.”

Dean snorted, and held up his hands.

“Fine,” he said. “Going. But you better have your ass on the couch when I get back in. We are gonna watch the crap out of that sword-making show on Netflix.”

Castiel’s expression was so familiarly exasperated and loving that Dean felt his chest squeeze.

“Chili,” he said.

Dean leaned in, and pressed a long kiss to his cheek.

“Chili,” he said. “I love you.”


End file.
